UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


dl 


uw.vfcus,TYofCAL 

AT 


*-0S  ANGELES 
UBRARY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/childrensbookofp01bake 


THE  CHILDREN'S 
FIRST  BOOK 
OF  POETRY 


SELECTED  BY 

EMILIE  KIP  BAKER 


AMERICAN    BOOK     COMPANY 


NEW   YORK 


CINCINNATI 


CHICAGO 


149847 


Copyright,  1915, 
By  EMILIE   KIP   BAKER. 


children's  first  bk.  of  poetry. 

E.  P.    14 


6)1/0 

v.| 
INTRODUCTION 

We  hear  much  nowadays  about  the  decline  of  poetry. 
No  one  reads  poetry  any  more.  Poets  cannot  make  a 
living.  The  world  has  ceased  to  express  its  ideals  in 
verse.  The  novel  and  the  short  story,  rather  than  the 
epic  or  the  lyric,  furnish  our  instruction  and  our  inspira- 
tion. The  magazine  and  the  newspaper  are  our  substi- 
tute for  a  library ;  and  these  print  verses  only  to  fill  out 
a  column  or  a  page.  In  short,  we  are  living  in  a  reflec- 
tive, a  scientific,  a  prose  age.     So  we  are  told. 

Like  most  generalizations  about  the  complex  phe- 
nomena of  modern  life,  this  is  only  partially  true. 
Every  year  brings  new  volumes  of  dramatic,  narrative, 
and  lyric  poetry  of  high  merit.  Yeats,  Synge,  and 
Phillips  ;  Noyes,  Masefield,  and  Gibson ;  —  these  and 
scores  of  other  names  come  to  mind  to  prove  that  the 
gift  of  song  has  not  fled  the  earth.  Nor  are  the  old 
poets  forgotten.  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Wordsworth, 
Keats,  Tennyson,  Whittier,  Longfellow,  still  sell  by  the 

3 


thousands.  We  must  believe  that  they  are  still  read. 
We  know  that  they  are  quoted,  and  cited,  though  less 
ostentatiously  than  by  our  grandsires.  We  certainly  read 
more  prose  than  former  generations,  and,  possibly,  less 
poetry.  But  we  do  still  read  poetry,  and  few  will  doubt 
that  we  are  somehow  the  better  for  it. 

Into  this  heritage  of  poetry  we  would  admit,  not  the 
adults  only,  but  the  children.  It  is  in  the  firm  belief 
that  children  can  enjoy  poetry,  and  can  find  in  it  the 
highest  educational  value,  that  this  anthology  has  been 
compiled.  As  such  an  anthology  should,  it  has  included 
those  minor  classics  commonly  called  "  old  favorites," 
other  poems  of  equal  or  greater  merit  that  are  less  well 
known,  and  many  of  the  newer  things  that,  by  their 
piquancy  of  beauty  or  humor,  seem  entitled  to  a  place 
in  our  mental  treasure-house.  This  is  the  service  of  an 
anthology,  that  it  brings  together,  between  the  covers 
of  a  small  book,  many  precious  things  that  are  widely 
scattered,  and  might  be  inaccessible  or  forgotten.  The 
range  of  theme  and  type  is  large:  ballads,  pure  lyrics, 
\ narratives,  and  elegiacs  are  all  represented.  The  three 
hundred  or  more  poems  in  this  series,  including  nearly 
all  the  themes,  expressing  nearly  all  the  ideals  and  emo- 
tions found  in  literature,  afford  an  imaginative  outlook 

4 


on  life  such  as  could  hardly  be  found  in  many  volumes: 
—  so  compact,  so  suggestive  is  poetry. 

Perhaps  no  system  of  grading  poetry  for  young  read- 
ers can  ever  be  wholly  satisfactory.  Many  poems  can- 
not be  graded,  for  the  simple  reason  that  they  appeal 
to  all  ages.  Who  will  say  whether  Sennacherib,  the 
Twenty-Third  Psalm,  The  Lady  of  Shalott,  The  Lob- 
sters Quadrille,  and  Bed  in  Summer  can  give  more 
pleasure  at  the  age  of  eight  or  eighteen  or  twenty- 
eight?  Of  course  there  are  large  dividing  lines:  the 
nursery  rimes,  the  verses  about  childhood  and  fairies, 
best  suit  one  age,  stories  of  chivalry  another,  nature 
poetry  and  reflective,  or  elegiac,  poetry  yet  another. 
The  grading  of  this  series  runs  along  these  broad  lines. 

How  should  such  an  anthology  be  used  ?  One  is 
tempted  to  answer  flippantly  :  with  good  taste  and  good 
sense.  Certainly  it  is  not  to  be  read  straight  through, 
with  remorseless  continuity.  One  doesn't  read  poetry 
so ;  one  takes  it  in  bits,  intersperses  it  between  other 
reading,  returns  to  it  again  and  again,  dips  in  here  and 
there,  reads  his  favorites  often,  "  proves  everything,"  and 
"holds  fast  to  that  which  is  good"  for  him.  One  tries 
to  understand  as  well  as  to  enjoy ;  but  he  doesn't  al- 
ways make  the  attack  with  the  persistent  analysis  that 

5 


he  brings  to  his  mathematics.  One  wants  his  poetry) 
in  brief,  to  be  something  from  which  he  can  gam  new 
ideas,  new  outlooks,  while  feeding  his  soul  with  pleasant 
emotions.      It  is  not  poetry  for  us,  if  it  is  arid. 

The  teacher  can  help,  of  course.  Sometimes,  not  al- 
ways, she  can  make  comments  that  lend  light  and  feeling. 
Often,  but  not  always,  she  can  help  by  reading  aloud. 
Sometimes,  where  necessary,  she  can  ask  questions  to 
provoke  thought  and  bring  out  the  meaning.  Some- 
times she  should  simply  tell  the  meaning.  Always  her 
function  is  to  stimulate,  suggest,  guide,  but  not  to 
obstruct  the  sunlight  of  the  poet's  genius. 

There  should  be  much  reading  aloud  by  the  pupils. 
Remembering  that,  being  poetry,  it  is  rhythmic  utter- 
ance, they  should  read  it  so ;  not  singsong  fashion,  nor 
yet  in  the  bald  and  unrhythmic  fashion  of  prose. 

Finally,  the  pupils  should  be  led  to  commit  much  to 

.memory,  as  much  as  they  can  and  will.      So  they  make 

fine  sentiment   and   beautiful    language   theirs;    so   the 

poet's  followers  "  learned  his  great  language,  caught  his 

clear  accents." 

FRANKLIN  T.  BAKER. 

Teachers  College, 

Columbia  University. 


CONTENTS 


A  Boy's  Song 

A  Child's  Grace     . 

A  Dream  Lesson    . 
•  A  Farmer  went  riding 
'  A  Frog  he  would  a-wooing  go 

A  Good  Play 

A  Lobster  Quadrille 

A  Nautical  Ballad 

A  Visit  from  St.  Nicholas 

After  Blenheim 

All  Things  Beautiful 
'  An  Old  Rat's  Tale 

Auld  Daddy  Darkness   . 

Bed  in  Summer 

Beth-Gelert    . 

Birthdays 

Bobby  Shafto 

Bonnie  George  Campbell 

Bumble-Bee  and  Clover 

Child's  Evening  Hymn 

Choosing  a  Kitten 

Come  out  to  Play 

Cuddle  Doon 

Daisies 

Farewell  to  the  Farm 

Father  William 

Fishing 

Foreign  Children   . 

Frogs  at  School 

Full  Fathom  Five  thy  Father 

Gaelic  Lullaby 

Good-Night  . 


James  Hogg 
Robert  Burns 
Carolyn  Wells 
Nursery  Rime 
Nursery  Rime 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson 
.     Lewis  Carroll 
Charles  Edward  Carryl 
Clement  C.  Moore 
.  Robert  SoutJiey 
.     Cecil  F.  Alexander 
.    Nursery  Rime 
James  Ferguson 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson 
II  'illiam  Robert  Spencer 
.   Nursery  Rime 
.    Nursery  Rime 
Old  Ballad 
Anonymous 
S.  Baring-Gould 
.    Nursery  Rime 
Anonymous 
.  Alexander  Anderson 
Frank  Dempster  Sherman 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson 
.    Lewis  Carroll 
.    Nursery  Rime 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson 
Author  Unknown 
II  'illiam  Shakespeare 
.   Old  Song 
Author  Unknown 


PAGE 

101 

74 

174 

20 

3° 
60 
118 
i°3 
"3 
169 

36 

44 

116 

4i 
213 

23 

23 

l97 

190 

75 
27 

19 

204 
81 

73 
210 

34 
80 
66 

'59 
74 
76 


Grasshopper  Green 

Author  Unknown 

H5 

Hark  !   Hark  !  the  Lark 

William  Shakespeare 

169 

Hiawatha's  Childhood    . 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

161 

How  the  Flowers  Grow 

.  Gabriel  Setoun 

132 

Hunting  Song 

.    Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 

203 

I  like  Little  Pussy  . 

Jane  Taylor 

5' 

Indian  Lullaby 

.    Charles  Myall 

86 

I  saw  a  Ship  a-Sailing    . 

.    Nursery  Rime 

25 

I  will  Lift  up  Mine  Eyes 

Psalms 

218 

Jack  Frost 

Gabriel  Setoun 

I31 

Kentucky  Babe 

Richard  Henry  Buck 

57 

Ladybird 

.   Caroline  B.  Southey 

94 

Lady  Moon   . 

Lord  Houghton 

90 

Little  Billee  . 

1 1  'illiam  Makepeace  Thackeray 

191 

Little  Birdie  . 

Alfred  Tennyson 

42 

Little  Dandelion    . 

Li  el  en  B.  Bostivit  k 

198 

Little  Girls     . 

.     Laurence  Alma-Tadema 

102 

Little  Gustava 

.     Celia  Thaxter 

64 

Little  Jack  Frost    . 

Author  Unknown 

140 

Little  Orphant  Annie 

James  Whitcomb  Riley 

180 

Long  Time  Ago     . 

Anonymous 

40 

Lucy  Gray 

William  Wordsworth 

200 

March    .... 

William  Wordsworth 

134 

Margery  Brown 

Kate  Greenaway 

135 

Mr.  Nobody  . 

Author  Unknown 

99 

My  Little  Neighbor 

Mary  Augusta  Mason 

212 

My  Shadow  . 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

120 

Nonsense  Rime 

.    Laura  E.  Richards 

140 

November 

Alice  Cary 

129 

Oh!  where  do  Fairies  Hide? 

Thomas  Haynes  Bayly 

144 

Old  Dame  Cricket 

Author  Unknown 

69 

Over  in  the  Meadow 

Olive  A.  Wadsworth 

45 

Pretty  Cow    . 

Jane  Taylor 

38 

Prince  Finikin 

Kate  Greenaway 

53 

Pussycat  Rimes 

Various  Authors 

24 

Queen  Mab    . 

.     Thomas  Hood 

55 

Rain 

Romance 
""Santa  Claus   . 

Seven  Times  One  . 

Sing  a  Song  of  Sixpence 

Singing 

Sweet  and  Low 

Thanksgiving  Day 

The  Bluebird 

The  Child  and  the  Fairies 
•The  City  Mouse  and  the  Garden  Mouse 

The  Cow        .... 

The  Elf  and  the  Dormouse     . 

The  Fairies    .... 

The  Fairies  of  the  Caldon  Low 

The  Fairy      .... 

The  Fairy  Folk 

The  Fox         .... 

The  Frost      .... 

The  Jumblies 

The  Lamplighter    . 

The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

The  Little  Land     . 

The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd 

The  Lost  Doll 

The  Lost  Lamb 

The  Man  in  the  Moon   . 

The  Mermaid 

The  Miller  of  the  Dee    . 

The  Moon     .... 

The  Moon     .... 

The  New  Year 

The  Old  Woman   . 

The  Owl        .... 
-The  Owl  and  the  Pussycat 

The  Quangle  Wangle's  Hat   . 


PAGE 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

32 

.  Gabriel  Setoun 

92 

Author  Unknown 

112 

Jean  Ingelow 

9' 

.    Nursery  Rime 

22 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

35 

Alfred  Tennyson 

«7 

.    Lydia  Maria  Child 

89 

.  Emily  Huntington  Miller 

85 

Anonymous 

43 

douse 

Christina  G.  Rossetti 

70 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

39 

Oliver  Her  ford 

127 

.    William  Allingham 

95 

Mary  Howitt 

149 

Author  Unknown 

139 

Robert  Bird 

142 

Anonymous 

33 

Hannah  F-  Gould 

165 

.    Edward  Lear 

105 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

126 

.  Nursery  Rime 

20 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

136 

xxiii  Psalm 

146 

Charles  Kingsley 

81 

Thomas  IVestwood 

109 

Author  Unknown 

82 

.   Old  Song 

173 

Charles  Mackay 

'83 

Eliza  Lee  Follen 

35 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

1 1 1 

Dinah  M.  Craik 

168 

.   Nursery  Rime 

26 

Alfred  Tennyson 

125 

.     Edward  Lear 

5° 

.    Edward  Lear 

185 

The  Raggle,  Taggle  Gypsies 

The  Robin     . 

There  was  an  old  man    . 

There  was  a  young  lady 

The  Sands  of  Dee 

The  Unseen  Playmate   . 

The  Village  Blacksmith 

The  Way  the  Morning  dawns 

The  Wind     . 

The  Wind     . 

The  Wind  and  the  Moon 

The  Wonderful  World  . 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus 

The  Yarn  of  the  Nancy  Bell 

Three  Bugs   . 

Three  Welshmen  . 

Time  to  Rise 

To  Mother  Fairie 

Topsy-Turvy  World 

Twinkle,  twinkle,  Little  Star 

Two  Little  Kittens 

Under  My  Window 

We  are  Seven 

What  the  Chimney  Sang 

What  the  Winds  Bring 

When    .... 

When  good  King  Arthur 

When  I  was  a  Bachelor 

"  Where  are  you  going,  my  Little  Cat  ?  " 

Where  do  All  the  Daisies  go 

Where  go  the  Boats? 

Who  likes  the  Rain? 

Who  stole  the  Bird's  Nest 

Windy  Nights 

Wishing 

Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod 

10 


Author  Unknown 

58 

.     Laurence  .  llma-Tadema 

70 

.    Edward  Lear 

39 

.    Edward  Lear 

42 

Charles  Kingsley 

128 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

7i 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

188 

Author  Unknown 

88 

Christina  G.  Rossetti 

49 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

61 

George  Macdonald 

177 

.     W.  B.  Rands 

72 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

193 

.     William  S.  Gilbert 

155 

Alice  Cary 

62 

.  Old  Rime 

28 

Robert  Lords  Stevenson 

*9 

Alice  Cary 

'54 

William  B.  Rands 

83 

Jane  Taylor 

37 

Author  Unknown 

54 

Thomas  Westwood 

160 

William  Wordsworth 

207 

Bret  Harte 

167 

.  E.  C.  Stedman 

79 

Clifton  Bingham 

84 

.    Nursery  Rime 

21 

.   Nursery  Rime 

21 

Author  Unknown 

27 

Author  Unknown 

68 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

52< 

Clara  Doty  Bates 

56\ 

.    Lydia  Maria  Child 

121 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

67 

.    William  Allingham 

124 

Eugene  Field 

96 

INDEX    OF   AUTHORS 


Alexander,  Cecil  F.  (1818-1895). 

All  Things  Beautiful 
Allingham,  William  (1 824-1 889). 

The  Fairies     .... 

Wishing  .... 

Alma-Tadema,  Laurence. 

The  Robin      .... 

Little  Girls      .... 
Anderson,  Alexander  (1845-1909). 

Cuddle  Doon 
Baring-Gould,  Sabine  (1834-        ). 

Child's  Evening  Hymn    . 
Bates,  Clara  Doty. 

Who  likes  the  Rain  ? 
Bayly,  Thomas  Haynes  (1 797-1 839) 

Oh!  where  do  Fairies  Hide  ?  . 
Bingham,  Clifton. 

When      . 
Bird,  Robert. 

The  Fairy  Folk 
Bostwick,  Helen  B 

Little  Dandelion 
Buck,  Richard  Henry  (i 

Kentucky  Babe 


Burns,  Robert  (1759 
A  Child's  Grace 


1S26- 


)• 


1796). 


Carroll,  Lewis  (Charles  Lutwidg 

A  Lobster  Quadrille 

Father  William 
Carryl,  Charles  Edward  (1841- 

A  Nautical  Ballad    . 
Cary,  Alice  (1820-1871). 

Three  Bugs     .... 

November        .... 

To  Mother  Fairie    . 


e  Dodgson)    (i 


832-1898). 


PAGE 

95 
124 

70 
102 

204 

75 

56 

i44 


142 

198 

57 

74 

118 
210 

103 

62 

129 
154 


Child,  Lydia  Maria  (1802-1880) 

Thanksgiving  Day  . 

Who  stole  the  Bird's  Nest  ?     . 
Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor  (1 772-1 

Hunting  Song 
Craik,  Dinah  Mulock  (1826-1887). 

The  New  Year 
Ferguson,  James. 

Auld  Daddy  Darkness     . 
Field,  Eugene  (1850-1895). 

Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod    . 
Follen,  Eliza  Lee  (1787- 1860).', 

The  Moon 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 
Gilbert,  William  S.  (1836-1911). 

The  Yarn  of  the  Nancy  Bel/' . 
Gould,  Hannah  F.  (1 789-1865). 

The  Frost       .... 
Greenaway,  Kate  (1 846-1901). 

Margery  Brown 

Prince  Finikin 
Harte,  Bret  (1839-1902). 

What  the  Chimney  Sang 
Herford,  Oliver  (1863-        ). 

The  Elf  and  the  Dormouse 
Hogg,  James  (1770-1835). 

A  Boy's  Song 
Hood,  Thomas  (1790-1845). 

Queen  Mab     .... 
Houghton,  Lord  (Milnes,  Richard 

Lady  Moon     .         .    "     .         . 
Hovvitt,  Mary  (1799- 1888). 

The  Fairies  of  the  Caldon  Low 
Ingelow,  Jean  (1 820-1 897). 

Seven  Times  One    . 
Kingsley,  Charles  (1819-1875). 

The  Lost  Doll 

The  Sands  of  Dee  . 
Lear,  Edward  (1812-1888). 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussycat 

The  Jumblies 

The  Quangle  Wangle's  Hat 


834)- 


Monckton)  ( 


-1885). 


\ 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth  (1807-1882).  page 

Hiawatha's  Childhood 161 

The  Village  Blacksmith ..188 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus    ........      193 

Macdonald,  George  (1824- 1905). 

The  Wind  and  the  Moon         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  177 

Mackay,  Charles  (1814-1889). 

The  Miller  of  the  Dee 183 

Mason,  Mary  Augusta. 

My  Little  Neighbor         .........     212 

Miller,  Emily  Huntington  (1833-        ). 

The  Bluebird 85 

Moore,  Clement  C.  (1 779-1 863). 

A  Visit  from  St.  Nicholas        .         . 113 

Myall,  Charles. 

Indian  Lullaby         ..........       86 

Prentiss,  Elizabeth  (18 18-1878). 

Long  Time  Ago       ..........       40 

Rands,  William   Brighty  (1 823-1 882). 

The  Wonderful  World     .........       72 

Topsy-Turvy  WTorld 83 

Richards,  Laura  E.  (1850-        ). 

Nonsense  Rime       ..........     140 

Riley,  James  Whitcomb  (1852-        ). 

Little  Orphant  Annie .         .180 

Rossetti,  Christina  G.  (1 830-1 894). 

The  City  Mouse  and  the  Garden  Mouse  .    -      .         .         .  70 

The  Wind 49 

Setoun,  Gabriel  (Thomas  Nicoll  Hepburn)  ( 1 86 1  -        ). 

Romance         ...........  92 

Jack  Frost       .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  131 

How  the  Flowers  Grow  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         -132 

Shakespeare,  William  (1564-1616). 

Full  Fathom  Five  thy  Father  lies    .         .         .         .         .         .  159 

Hark  !  Hark  !  the  Lark  ! 169 

Sherman,  Frank  Dempster  (i860-   ). 

Daisies    ............       81 

Southey,  Caroline  B.  (1786-1854). 

Ladybird  ...........       94 

Southey,  Robert  (1774-1843). 

After  Blenheim        ..........     169 

13 


Spencer,  William  Robert  (i 769-1 834) 

Beth-Gelert 

Stedman,  Edmund  Clarence  (1833- 1908) 

What  the  Winds  bring    . 
Stevenson,  Robert  Louis  (1 850-1 894). 

A  Good  Play 

Bed  in  Summer        .... 

Farewell  to  the  Farm 

Foreign  Children     .... 

Rain        ...... 

Singing 

The  Cow  ..... 

The  Unseen  Playmate     . 

The  Wind 

Time  to  Rise  ..... 

Where  go  the  Boats 

Windy  Nights  .... 

My  Shadow     ..... 

The  Little  Land      .... 

The  Moon       ..... 

The  Lamplighter     .... 
Taylor,  Jane  (1 783-1 824). 

Twinkle,  twinkle.  Little  Star   . 

Pretty  Cow      ..... 

I  like  Little  Pussy  ... 
Tennyson,  Alfred  (1 809-1 892). 

Little  Birdie 

Sweet  and  Low        .... 

The  Owl 

Thackeray,  William  Makepeace  (181 1- 

Little  Billee     . 
Thaxter,  Celia  (1835-1894). 

Little  Gustava 
Wadsworth.  Olive  A. 

Over  in  the  Meadow 
Wells,  Carolyn  (1868-        ) 

A  Dream  Lesson 
Westwood,  Thomas  (1814-1 

The  Lost  Lamb 

Under  my  Windows 
Wordsworth,  William  (1 770-1 850). 

March 

Lucy  Gray       ..... 

We  are  Seven  .... 

H 


1863). 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

The  poems  by  Alice  Cary,  Bret  Harte,  Henry  Wads- 
worth  Longfellow,  Frank  Dempster  Sherman,  Edmund 
Clarence  Stedman,  and  Celia  Thaxter  are  used  by  per- 
mission of  and  special  arrangement  with  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  publishers  of  the  works 
of  those  authors.  Thanks  are  also  extended  to  The 
Century  Company  for  permission  to  use  "  The  Elf  and 
the  Dormouse,"  by  Oliver  Herford ;  to  The  Bobbs- 
Merrill  Company  for  "  Little  Orphant  Annie,"  by  James 
Whitcomb  Riley ;  to  The  Macmillan  Company  for  "  A 
Dream  Lesson  "  from  "  The  Jingle  Book,"  by  Carolyn 
Wells ;  to  Little,  Brown,  and  Company  for  the  "  Non- 
sense Rime,"  by  Laura  E.  Richards;  to  Charles  Scrib- 
ner's  Sons  for  the  poem,  "  Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod," 
by  Eugene  Field ;  and  to  the  White-Smith  Music  Pub- 
lishing Co.,  for  "  Kentucky  Babe." 


ic 


PART    ONE 


The  world  is  so  full  of  a  number  of  things, 
I  am  sure  we  should  all  be  as  happy  as  kings. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 


18 


COME  OUT  TO  PLAY 

Girls  and  boys,  come  out  to  play, 

The  moon  is  shining  as  bright  as  day : 

Leave  your  supper,  and  leave  your  sleep, 

And  join  your  playfellows  in  the  street. 

Come  with  a  whoop  and  come  with  a  call, 

Come  with  a  good  will  or  not  at  all. 

Up  the  ladder  and  down  the  wall, 

A  halfpenny  roll  will  serve  us  all. 

You  find  milk  and  I'll  find  flour, 

And  we'll  have  a  pudding  in  half  an  hour. 


TIME   TO   RISE 

A  birdie  with  a  yellow  bill 

Hopped  upon  the  window-sill, 
Cocked  his  shining  eye  and  said : 

"Ain't  you  'shamed,  you  sleepy  head!" 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 
19 


A   FARMER   WENT   RIDING 

A  farmer  went  riding  upon  his  gray  mare, 

Bumpety,  bumpety,  bump  ! 
With  his  daughter  behind  him,  so  rosy  and  fair, 

Lumpety,  lumpety,  lump  ! 

A  raven  cried  "croak"!  and  they  all  tumbled  down, 

Bumpety,  bumpety,  bump  ! 
The  mare  broke  her  knees  and  the  farmer  his  crown, 

Lumpety,  lumpety,  lump  ! 

The  mischievous  raven  flew  laughing  away, 

Bumpety,  bumpety,  bump  ! 
And  vowed  he  would  serve  them  the  same  the  next  day, 

Lumpety,  lumpety,  lump  ! 

THE   LION   AND   THE   UNICORN 

The  lion  and  the  unicorn 

Were  fighting  for  the  crown: 
The  lion  beat  the  unicorn 

All  around  the  town. 
Some  gave  them  white  bread, 

And  some  gave  them  brown; 
Some  gave  them  plum  cake, 

And  drummed  them  out  of  town. 
20 


WHEN   GOOD    KING  ARTHUR 

When  good  King  Arthur  ruled  this  land, 

He  was  a  goodly  king ; 
He  stole  three  pecks  of  barley  meal 

To  make  a  bag-pudding. 

A  bag-pudding  the  king  did  make, 

And  stuffed  it  well  with  plums  ; 
And  in  it  put  great  lumps  of  fat, 

As  big  as  my  two  thumbs. 

The  king  and  queen  did  eat  thereof, 

And  noblemen  beside ; 
And  what  they  could  not  eat  that  night, 

The  queen  next  morning  fried. 

WHEN   I   WAS   A   BACHELOR 

When  I  was  a  bachelor  I  lived  by  myself, 

And  all  the  bread  and  cheese  I  got,  I  put  upon  a  shelf ; 

The  rats  and  the  mice  did  lead  me  such  a  life, 

I  had.  to  go  to  London  to  get  myself  a  wife. 

The  streets  were  so  bad  and  the  lanes  were  so  narrow, 

I  had  to  bring  my  wife  home  in  a  wheelbarrow ; 

The  wheelbarrow  broke,  my  wife  had  a  fall, 

Down  tumbled  wheelbarrow,  little  wife  and  all. 

21 


SING  A  SONG  OF   SIXPENCE 

Sing  a  song  of  sixpence, 

A  pocket  full  of  rye ; 
Four-and- twenty  blackbirds 

Baked  in  a  pie. 
When  the  pie  was  opened 

The  birds  began  to  sing; 
Wasn't  that  a  dainty  dish 

To  set  before  a  king  ? 


The  king  was  in  his  countinghouse, 

Counting  out  his  money ; 
The  queen  was  in  the  parlor, 

Eating  bread  and  honey; 
The  maid  was  in  the  garden, 

Hanging  out  the  clothes, 
Down  flew  a  blackbird 

And  nipped  off  her  nose. 


22 


BIRTHDAYS 

Monday's  child  is  fair  of  face, 
Tuesday's  child  is  full  of  grace ; 
Wednesday's  child  is  full  of  woe, 
Thursday's  child  has  far  to  go ; 
Friday's  child  is  loving  and  giving, 
Saturday's  child  works  hard  for  its  living ; 
But  the  child  that  is  born  on  the  Sabbath  day- 
Is  blithe  and  merry  and  good  and  gay. 


BOBBY  SHAFTO 

Bobby  Shafto's  gone  to  sea, 
Silver  buckles  on  his  knee, 

He'll  come  back  and  marry  me, 
Pretty  Bobby  Shafto. 

Bobby  Shafto's  fat  and  fair, 
Combing  down  his  yellow  hair. 

He's  my  love  for  evermair, 
Pretty  Bobby  Shafto. 


23 


PUSSYCAT   RIMES 

i 
Pussycat,  pussycat  with  a  white  foot, 

To-morrow's  my  wedding,  won't  you  come  to  it  ? 
I've  cakes  to  bake  and  I've  beer  to  brew, 

And  pussycat,  pussycat,  what  would  you  do  ? 

ii 
Pussycat  mole  jumped  over  a  coal, 

And  in  her  best  petticoat  burnt  a  big  hole. 
Poor  pussy's  weeping,  she'll  get  no  more  milk 

Until  her  best  petticoat's  mended  with  silk. 

in 
Who's  that  ringing  at  my  doorbell  ? 

I'm  a  little  pussycat  and  I'm  not  very  well. 
Then  rub  your  little  nose  with  a  little  mutton  fat, 

For  that's  the  best  thing  for  a  little  pussycat. 

IV 

Pussycat,  pussycat,  where  have  you  been? 

I've  been  to  London  to  visit  the  queen. 
Pussycat,  pussycat,  what  did  you  there? 

I  frightened  a  little  mouse  under  her  chair. 

24 


I  SAW  A   SHIP  A-SAILING 

I  saw  a  ship  a-sailing, 

A-sailing  on  the  sea, 
And  oh  !  it  was  all  laden 

With  pretty  things  for  thee  ! 

There  were  raisins  in  the  cabin, 

And  apples  in  the  hold ; 
The  sails  were  made  of  silk, 

And  the  masts  were  made  of  gold. 

The  four-and-twenty  sailors 
That  stood  between  the  decks, 

Were  four-and-twenty  white  mice, 
With  chains  about  their  necks. 

The  captain  was  a  duck, 
With  a  jacket  on  his  back ; 

WTien  the  ship  began  to  sail, 

The  captain  cried,  "Quack!  quack!" 
25 


THE   OLD    WOMAN 

There  was  an  old  woman,  as  I've  heard  tell, 
She  went  to  the  market  her  eggs  for  to  sell ; 
She  went  to  the  market  all  on  a  market  day, 
And  she  fell  fast  asleep  on  the  king's  highway. 

Along  came  a  pedler  whose  name  it  was  Stout, 

He  cut  her  petticoats  all  round  about; 

He  cut  her  petticoats  up  to  the  knees, 

Which  made  the  old  woman  to  shiver  and  freeze. 

When  the  little  old  woman  began  to  awake, 
She  began  to  shiver,  and  she  began  to  shake ; 
She  began  to  wonder,  and  she  began  to  cry, 
"Lauk  a  daisy  on  me,  this  can't  be  I ! 

"  But  if  it  be  I,  as  I  hope  it  may  be, 

I  have  a  little  dog  at  home,  and  he'll  know  me; 

If  it  be  I,  he  will  wag  his  little  tail, 

And  if  it  be  not  I,  he  will  bark  and  wail." 

Home  went  the  old  woman  all  in  the  dark, 
Up  got  the  little  dog,  and  he  began  to  bark; 
He  began  to  bark,  so  she  began  to  cry, 
"Lauk  a  daisy  on  me,  this  cannot  be  I." 

26 


''WHERE   ARE   YOU   GOING,   MY  LITTLE   CAT?" 

"Where  are  you  going,  my  little  cat?" 
"I  am  going  to  town  to  get  me  a  hat." 

"What!     A  hat  for  a  cat! 

A  cat  get  a  hat ! 
Who  ever  yet  saw  a  cat  with  a  hat?" 

"Where  are  you  going,  my  little  kittens?" 

"We  are  going  to  town  to  get  us  some  mittens." 

"What!     Mittens  for  kittens  ! 

Do  kittens  wear  mittens  ? 
Who  ever  saw  little  kittens  with  mittens?" 

"Where  are  you  going,  my  little  pig?" 
"I  am  going  to  town  to  get  me  a  wig." 

"What !     A  wig  for  a  pig  ! 

A  pig  in  a  wig  ! 

Who  ever  yet  saw  a  pig  in  a  wig?" 

Eliza  Lee  Follen. 

CHOOSING  A  KITTEN 

A  black-nosed  kitten  will  slumber  all  the  day ; 
A  white-nosed  kitten  is  ever  glad  to  play ; 
A  yellow-nosed  kitten  will  answer  to  your  call ; 
And  a  gray-nosed  kitten  I  wouldn't  have  at  all. 

27 


THREE   WELSHMEN 

There  were  three  jovial  Welshmen, 
As  I  have  heard  them  say, 

And  they  would  go  a-hunting 
Upon  St.  David's  day. 

All  the  day  they  hunted, 
And  nothing  could  they  find 

But  a  ship  a-sailing, 
A-sailing  with  the  wind. 

One  said  it  was  a  ship, 

The  other,  he  said  nay; 
The  third  said  it  was  a  house, 

With  the  chimney  blown  away. 

And  all  night  they  hunted, 
And  nothing  could  they  find 

But  the  moon  a-gliding, 
A-gliding  with  the  wind. 

One  said  it  was  the  moon, 

The  other,  he  said  nay ; 
The  third  said  it  was  a  cheese, 

And  half  of  it  cut  away. 
28 


And  all  the  day  they  hunted, 
And  nothing  could  they  find 

But  a  hedgehog  in  a  bramble  bush, 
And  that  they  left  behind. 

The  first  said  it  was  a  hedgehog, 

The  second,  he  said  nay; 
The  third  it  was  a  pincushion, 

And  the  pins  stuck  in  wrong  way. 

And  all  night  they  hunted, 
And  nothing  could  they  find 

But  an  owl  in  a  hollow  tree, 
And  that  they  left  behind. 

One  said  it  was  an  owl, 

The  other,  he  said  nay ; 
The  third  said  'twas  an  old  man 

Whose  beard  was  growing  gray. 


29 


A   FROG   HE   WOULD    A-WOOING   GO 

A  Frog  he  would  a-wooing  go, 

Heigho,  says  Roly  ! 
Whether  his  mother  would  let  him  or  no, 
With  a  roly-poly,  gammon  and  spinach, 

Heigho,  says  Anthony  Roly  ! 

So  off  he  set  in  his  coat  and  hat, 

Heigho,  says  Roly  ! 
And  on  the  way  he  met  a  rat, 
With  a  roly-poly,  gammon  and  spinach, 

Heigho,  says  Anthony  Roly  ! 

"Please,  Mr.  Rat,  will  you  go  with  me?" 

Heigho,  says  Roly  ! 
"Good  Mrs.  Mouse  for  to  see?" 
With  a  roly-poly,  gammon  and  spinach, 

Heigho,  says  Anthony  Roly  ! 

When  they  came  to  the  door  of  the  mousie's  hole, 

Heigho,  says  Roly  ! 
They  gave  a  loud  knock,  and  they  gave  a  loud  call, 
With  a  roly-poly,  gammon  and  spinach, 

Heigho,  says  Anthony  Roly  ! 

30 


"Please,  Mrs.  Mouse,  are  you  within?" 

Heigho,  says  Roly  ! 
"Oh,  yes,  dear  sirs,  I  am  sitting  to  spin," 
With  a  roly-poly,  gammon  and  spinach, 

Heigho,  says  Anthony  Roly  ! 

"Please,  Mrs.  Mouse,  will  you  give  us  some  beer?" 

Heigho,  says  Roly  ! 
"For  Froggy  and  I  are  fond  of  good  cheer," 
With  a  roly-poly,  gammon  and  spinach, 

Heigho,  says  Anthony  Roly  ! 

"Please,  Mr.  Frog,  will  you  give  us  a  song?" 

Heigho,  says  Roly  ! 
"But  let  it  be  something  that's  not  very  long," 
With  a  roly-poly,  gammon  and  spinach, 

Heigho,  says  Anthony  Roly  ! 

But  while  they  were  making  a  terrible  din, 

Heigho,  says  Roly  ! 
The  cat  and  her  kittens  came  tumbling  in, 
With  a  roly-poly,  gammon  and  spinach, 

Heigho,  says  Anthony  Roly  ! 


3i 


The  cat  she  seized  Mr.  Rat  by  the  crown, 

Heigho,'  says  Roly  ! 
The  kittens  they  pulled  Mrs.  Mousie  down, 
With  a  roly-poly,  gammon  and  spinach, 

Heigho,  says  Anthony  Roly ! 

This  put  Mr.  Frog  in  a  terrible  fright, 

Heigho,  says  Roly  ! 
He  took  up  his  hat  and  he  wished  them  good  night, 
With  a  roly-poly,  gammon  and  spinach, 

Heigho,  says  Anthony  Roly  ! 

But  as  Froggy  was  crossing  over  a  brook, 

Heigho,  says  Roly  ! 
A  lily-white  duck  came  and  swallowed  him  up, 
With  a  roly-poly,  gammon  and  spinach, 

Heigho,  says  Roly  ! 

RAIN 

The  rain  is  raining  all  around, 

It  falls  on  field  and  tree, 
It  rains  on  the  umbrellas  here, 
And  on  the  ships  at  sea. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 
32 


THE    FOX 

The  Fox  set  out  in  a  hungry  plight, 

And  begged  the  moon  to  give  him  light, 
fFor  he'd  many  a  mile  to  travel  that  night 
Before  he  could  reach  his  den  O  ! 

First  he  came  to  a  farmer's  yard, 

Where  the  ducks  and  geese  declared  it  was  hard 
That  their  nerves  should  be  shaken,  and  their  rest  be 
marred 

By  a  visit  from  Mr.  Fox  0  ! 

He  seized  the  gray  goose  by  the  sleeve, 

Says  he,  "Madam  Gray  Goose,  by  your  leave, 

I'll  carry  you  off  without  reprieve, 
And  take  you  away  to  my  den  O!" 

He  seized  the  gray  duck  by  the  neck, 

And  flung  her  over  across  his  back, 
While  the  old  duck  cried  out,  "Quack,  quack,  quack," 

With  her  legs  dangling  down  behind  0  ! 

Then  old  Mrs.  Flipper  Flapper  jumped  out  of  bed, 
And  out  of  the  window  she  popped  her  head, 

Crying,  "John,  John,  John,  the  gray  goose  is  gone, 
And  the  Fox  is  off  to  his  den  O !" 

BAKER   1  —  3  37, 


Then  John  went  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill, 
And  he  blew  a  blast  both  loud  and  shrill. 

Says  the  Fox,  "That  is  fine  music,  still 
I'd  rather  be  off  to  my  den  O  !" 

So  the  Fox  he  hurried  home  to  his  den, 
To  his  dear  little  foxes  eight,  nine,  ten. 

Says  he,  "We're  in  luck,  here's  a  big  fat  duck 
With  her  legs  dangling  down  behind  O!" 

Then  the  Fox  sat  down  with  his  hungry  wife, 

And  they  made  a  good  meal  without  fork  or  knife. 

They  never  had  a  better  time  in  all  their  life, 
And  the  little  ones  picked  the  bones  O ! 


FISHING 

The  finest,  biggest  fish,  you  see, 
Will  be  the  trout  that's  caught  by  me; 
But  if  the  monster  will  not  bite, 
Why,  then  I'll  hook  a  little  mite. 


34 


THE  MOON 

Oh,  look  at  the  moon, 

She  is  shining  up  there. 
See,  mother,  she  looks 

Like  a  lamp  in  the  air. 

Last  week  she  was  smaller, 

And  shaped  like  a  bow ; 
But  now  she's  grown  bigger, 

And  round  like  an  O. 

Eliza  Lee  Follen. 

SINGING 

Or  speckled  eggs  the  birdie  sings, 

And  nests  among  the  trees ; 
The  sailor  sings  of  ropes  and  things 

In  ships  upon  the  seas. 

The  children  sing  in  far  Japan, 

The  children  sing  in  Spain ; 
The  organ  with  the  organ  man 
Is  singing  in  the  rain. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 
35 


ALL   THINGS   BEAUTIFUL 

All  things  bright  and  beautiful 

All  creatures  great  and  small, 
All  things  wise  and  wonderful, 

The  Lord  God  made  them  all. 

Each  little  flower  that  opens, 

Each  little  bird  that  sings, 
He  made  their  glowing  colors, 

He  made  their  tiny  wings. 

The  purple-headed  mountain, 

The  river,  running  by, 
The  morning,  and  the  sunset 

That  lighteth  up  the  sky. 

The  tall  trees  in  the  greenwood, 

The  pleasant  summer  sun, 
The  ripe  fruits  in  the  garden, 

He  made  them  every  one. 

He  gave  us  eyes  to  see  them, 
And  lips  that  we  might  tell, 
How  great  is  God  Almighty, 
Who  hath  made  all  things  well. 

Cecil  F.  Alexander. 
36 


TWINKLE,   TWINKLE,   LITTLE   STAR 

Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star ! 
How  I  wonder  what  you  are, 
Up  above  the  world  so  high, 
Like  a  diamond  in  the  sky. 

When  the  glorious  sun  is  set, 
When  the  grass  with  dew  is  wet, 
Then  you  show  your  little  light, 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  all  the  night. 

In  the  dark-blue  sky  you  keep, 
And  often  through  my  curtains  peep, 
For  you  never  shut  your  eye, 
Till  the  sun  is  in  the  sky. 

As  your  bright  and  tiny  spark 
Guides  the  traveler  in  the  dark, 
Though  I  know  not  what  you  are, 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star  ! 

37 


7 


PRETTY   COW 

Thank  you,  pretty  cow,  that  made 

Pleasant  milk  to  soak  my  bread, 
Every  day  and  every  night, 

Warm,  and  fresh,  and  sweet,  and  white. 

Do  not  chew  the  hemlock  rank, 

Growing  on  the  weedy  bank; 
But  the  yellow  cowslip  eat, 

That  will  make  it  very  sweet. 

Where  the  purple  violet  grows, 

Where  the  bubbling  water  flows, 
Where  the  grass  is  fresh  and  fine, 
Pretty  cow,  go  there  and  dine. 

Jane  Taylor. 
38 


THE   COW 

The  friendly  cow  all  red  and  white, 

I  love  with  all  my  heart : 
She  gives  me  cream  with  all  her  might, 

To  eat  with  apple-tart. 

She  wanders,  lowing  here  and  there, 

And  yet  she  cannot  stray, 
All  in  the  pleasant  open  air, 

The  pleasant  light  of  day ; 

And  blown  by  all  the  winds  that  pass, 

And  wet  with  all  the  showers, 
She  walks  among  the  meadow  grass, 

And  eats  the  meadow  flowers. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 


There  was  an  old  man  who  said,  "How 
Shall  I  flee  from  this  horrible  cow  ? 
I  will  sit  on  this  stile 
And  continue  to  smile, 
Which  may  soften  the  heart  of  the  cow." 

Edward  Lear. 
39 


LONG  TIME  AGO 

Once  there  was  a  little  Kitty, 

White  as  the  snow ; 
In  a  barn  she  used  to  frolic, 

Long  time  ago. 

In  the  barn  a  little  mousie 

Ran  to  and  fro, 
For  she  heard  the  little  Kitty, 

Long  time  ago. 

Two  black  eyes  had  little  Kitty, 

Black  as  a  sloe ; 
And  they  spied  the  little  mousie, 

Long  time  ago. 

Four  soft  paws  had  little  Kitty, 

Paws  soft  as  snow ; 
And  they  caught  the  little  mousie, 

Long  time  ago. 

Nine  pearl  teeth  had  little  Kitty, 

All  in  a  row ; 
And  they  bit  the  little  mousie, 

Long  time  ago. 

40 


When  the  teeth  bit  little  mousie, 

Mousie  cried  out,  "Oh!" 
But  she  slipped  away  from  Kitty, 

Long  time  ago. 

Elizabeth  Prentiss. 


BED   IN   SUMMER 

In  winter  I  get  up  at  night 
And  dress  by  yellow  candlelight. 
In  summer,  quite  the  other  way, 
I  have  to  go  to  bed  by  day. 

I  have  to  go  to  bed  and  see 
The  birds  still  hopping  on  the  tree. 
Or  hear  the  grown-up  people's  feet 
Still  going  past  me  in  the  street. 

And  does  it  not  seem  hard  to  you, 
When  all  the  sky  is  clear  and  blue, 
And  I  should  like  so  much  to  play, 
To  have  to  go  to  bed  by  day? 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 


41 


LITTLE   BIRDIE 

What  does  little  birdie  say, 
In  her  nest  at  peep  of  day  ? 
"Let  me  fly,"  says  little  birdie, 

"Mother,  let  me  fly  away." 
"Birdie,  rest  a  little  longer, 
Till  the  little  wings  are  stronger." 
So  she  rests  a  little  longer, 

Then  she  flies  away. 

What  does  little  baby  say, 
In  her  bed  at  peep  of  day? 
Baby  says,  like  little  birdie, 

"Let  me  rise  and  fly  away." 
"Baby,  sleep  a  little  longer, 
Till  the  little  limbs  are  stronger. 
If  she  sleeps  a  little  longer, 

Baby,  too,  shall  fly  away." 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

There  was  a  young  lady  whose  bonnet 
Came  untied  when  the  birds  sat  upon  it. 

Said  she,  "I  don't  care; 

All  the  birds  in  the  air 
Are  welcome  to  sit  on  my  bonnet." 
42 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   FAIRIES 

The  woods  are  full  of  fairies  ! 

The  trees  are  all  alive ; 
The  river  overflows  with  them, 

See  how  they  dip  and  dive  ! 
What  funny  little  fellows  ! 

What  dainty  little  dears  ! 
They  dance  and  leap,  and  prance  and  peep, 

And  utter  fairy  cheers  ! 

I'd  like  to  tame  a  fairy, 

To  keep  it  on  a  shelf, 
To  see  it  wash  its  little  face, 

And  dress  its  little  self. 
I'd  teach  it  pretty  manners, 

It  always  should  say,  "Please!" 
And  then,  you  know,  I'd  make  it  sew, 

And  courtesy  with  its  knees  ! 


43 


AN   OLD   RAT'S   TALE 

He  was  a  rat,  and  she  was  a  rat, 
And  down  in  one  hole  they  did  dwell ; 

And  both  were  as  black  as  a  witch's  cat, 
And  they  loved  each  other  well. 

He  had  a  tail  and  she  had  a  tail, 

Both  long  and  curling  and  fine ; 
And  each  said,  "Yours  is  the  finest  tail 

In  the  world,  excepting  mine." 

He  smelt  the  cheese,  and  she  smelt  the  cheese, 
And  they  both  pronounced  it  good; 

And  both  remarked  it  would  greatly  add 
To  the  charms  of  their  daily  food. 

So  he  ventured  out,  and  she  ventured  out, 

And  I  saw  them  go  with  pain; 
But  what  befell  them  I  never  can  tell, 

For  they  never  came  back  again. 


44 


OVER   IN   THE   MEADOW 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

In  the  sand,  in  the  sun, 
Lived  an  old  mother  toad 

And  her  little  toadie  one. 
"Wink!"  said  the  mother; 

"I  wink,"  said  the  one: 
So  she  winked  and  she  blinked 

In  the  sand,  in  the  sun. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

Where  the  stream  runs  blue, 
Lived  an  old  mother  fish 

And  her  little  fishes  two. 
"Swim!"  said  the  mother; 

"We  swim,"  said  the  two: 
So  they  swam  and  they  leaped 

Where  the  stream  runs  blue. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

In  a  hole  in  a  tree, 
Lived  a  mother  bluebird 

And  her  little  birdies  three. 

45 


"Sing!"  said  the  mother; 

"We  sing,"  said  the  three: 
So  they  sang  and  were  glad, 

In  the  hole  in  the  tree. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

In  the  reeds  on  the  shore, 
Lived  a  mother  rnuskrat 

And  her  little  ratties  four. 
"Dive!"  said  the  mother; 

"We  dive,"  said  the  four: 
So  they  dived  and  they  burrowed 

In  the  reeds  on  the  shore. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

In  a  snug  beehive, 
Lived  a  mother  honeybee 

And  her  little  honeys  five. 
"Buzz!"  said  the  mother; 

"We  buzz,"  said  the  five: 
So  they  buzzed  and  they  hummed 

In  the  snug  beehive. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 
In  a  nest  built  of  sticks, 
46 


Lived  a  black  mother  crow 
And  her  little  crows  six. 

"Caw!"  said  the  mother; 
"We  caw,"  said  the  six: 

So  they  cawed  and  they  cawed 
In  their  nest  built  of  sticks. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

Where  the  grass  is  so  even, 
Lived  a  gray  mother  cricket 

And  her  little  crickets  seven. 
"Chirp!"  said  the  mother; 
"We  chirp,"  said  the  seven: 
So  they  chirped  cheery  notes 

In  the  grass  soft  and  even. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

By  the  old  mossy  gate, 
Lived  a  brown  mother  lizard 
And  her  little  lizards  eight. 
"Bask!"  said  the  mother; 
"We  bask,"  said  the  eight: 
So  they  basked  in  the  sun 
By  the  old  mossy  gate. 
47 


Over  in  the  meadow, 

Where  the  clear  pools  shine, 
Lived  a  green  mother  frog 

And  her  little  froggies  nine. 
"Croak!"  said  the  mother; 
"We  croak,"  said  the  nine; 
So  they  croaked,  and  they  splashed, 

Where  the  clear  pools  shine. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

In  a  sly  little  den, 
Lived  a  gray  mother  spider 

And  her  little  spiders  ten. 
"Spin!"  said  the  mother; 
"We  spin,"  said  the  ten: 
So  they  spun  lace  webs 

In  their  sly  little  den. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

In  the  soft  summer  even, 

Lived  a  mother  firefly 

And  her  little  flies  eleven. 

"Shine!"  said  the  mother; 
"We  shine,"  said  the  eleven: 
48 


So  they  shone  like  stars 
In  the  soft  summer  even. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

Where  the  men  dig  and  delve, 
Lived  a  wise  mother  ant 

And  her  little  anties  twelve. 
"Toil !"  said  the  mother; 

"We     toil,"  said  the  twelve: 
So  they  toiled  and  were  wise, 

Where  the  men  dig  and  delve. 

Olive  A.  Wadsworth. 

THE  WIND 

Who  has  seen  the  wind  ? 

Neither  I  nor  you  : 
But  when  the  leaves  hang  trembling, 

The  wind  is  passing  through. 

Who  has  seen  the  wind  ? 

Neither  you  nor  I : 
But  when  the  trees  bow  down  their  heads, 

The  wind  is  passing  by. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti. 

baker  r  —  4  49 


THE   OWL   AND    THE   PUSSYCAT 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussycat  went  to  sea 

In  a  beautiful  pea-green  boat. 
They  took  some  honey,  and  plenty  of  money 

Wrapped  up  in  a  five-pound  note. 
The  Owl  looked  up  to  the  stars  above, 

And  sang  to  a  small  guitar, 
"O  lovely  Pussy  !     O  Pussy  my  love  ! 

What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are,  —  you  are  ! 

What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are!" 

Pussy  said  to  the  Owl,  "You  elegant  fowl, 

How  wonderfully  sweet  you  sing  ! 
Oh  !  let  us  be  married,  too  long  we  have  tarried,  — 

But  what  shall  we  do  for  a  ring?" 
They  sailed  away  for  a  year  and  a  day 

To  the  land  where  the  bong-tree  grows; 
And  there  in  a  wood  a  Piggy -wig  stood 

With  a  ring  at  the  end  of  his  nose,  —  his  nose, 

With  a  ring  at  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"Dear  Pig,  are  you  willing  to  sell  for  one  shilling 
Your  ring?"     Said  the  Piggy,  "I  will." 

So  they  took  it  away,  and  were  married  next  day 
By  the  Turkey  who  lives  on  the  hill. 

5° 


They  dined  upon  mince  and  slices  of  quince, 
Which  they  ate  with  a  runcible  spoon ; 

And  hand  in  hand,  on  the  edge  of  the  sand 

They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  —  the  moon, 
They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon 

Edward  Lear. 


I   LIKE   LITTLE   PUSSY 

I  like  little  pussy,  her  coat  is  so  warm  ! 

And  if  I  don't  hurt  her,  she'll  do  me  no  harm. 

So  I'll  not  pull  her  tail,  nor  drive  her  away, 

But  pussy  and  I  very  gently  will  play ; 

She  shall  sit  by  my  side,  and  I'll  give  her  some  food ; 

And  she'll  love  me  because  I  am  gentle  and  good. 

I'll  pat  little  pussy  and  then  she  will  purr, 
And  thus  show  her  thanks  for  my  kindness  to  her ; 
I'll  not  pinch  her  ears,  nor  tread  on  her  paws, 
Lest  I  should  provoke  her  to  use  her  sharp  claws ; 
I  never  will  vex  her,  nor  make  her  displeased, 
For  pussy  can't  bear  to  be  worried  or  teased. 

Jane  Taylor. 
5i 


WHERE   GO   THE   BOATS? 

Dark  brown  is  the  river, 

Golden  is  the  sand. 
It  flows  along  forever, 

With  trees  on  either  hand. 

Green  leaves  a-floating, 

Castles  of  the  foam, 
Boats  of  mine  a-boating  — 

Where  will  all  come  home  ? 

On  goes  the  river, 

And  out  past  the  mill, 
Away  down  the  valley, 

Away  down  the  hill. 

Away  down  the  river, 

A  hundred  miles  or  more, 
Other  little  children 

Shall  bring  my  boats  ashore. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 
52 


PRINCE   FINIKIN 

Prince  Finikin  and  his  mamma 

Sat  sipping  their  bohea ;  l 
"Good  gracious!"  said  his  Highness,  "why, 

What  girl  is  this  I  see  ? 

"Most  certainly  it  cannot  be 

A  native  of  our  town  " ; 
And  he  turned  him  round  to  his  mamma, 

Who  set  her  teacup  down. 

But  Dolly  simply  looked  at  them, 

She  did  not  speak  a  word ; 
"She  has  no  voice!"  said  Finikin; 

"It's  really  quite  absurd." 

Then  Finikin's  mamma  observed, 

"Dear  Prince,  it  seems  to  me, 
She  looks  as  if  she'd  like  to  drink 

A  cup  of  my  bohea." 

So  Finikin  poured  out  her  tea, 

And  gave  her  currant  pie ; 
Then  Finikin  said,  "Dear  mamma, 

What  a  kind  prince  am  I !" 

Kate  Greenaway. 

1  bohea,  a  kind  of  lea 

53 


TWO  LITTLE   KITTENS 

Two  little  kittens,  one  stormy  night, 

Began  to  quarrel  and  then  to  fight; 
One  had  a  mouse,  and  the  other  had  none, 

And  that  was  the  way  the  quarrel  begun. 

'lVll  have  that  mouse,"  said  the  bigger  cat. 

"You'll  have  that  mouse!     We'll  see  about  that!" 
"I  will  have  that  mouse,"  said  the  elder  son. 

"You  won't  have  that  mouse,"  said  "the  little  one. 

As  I  told  you  before,  'twas  a  stormy  night, 
When  these  two  little  kittens  began  to  fight; 

Then  the  old  woman  seized  her  sweeping  broom, 
And  swept  the  two  kittens  right  out  of  the  room. 

The  ground  was  all  covered  with  frost  and  snow, 
And  the  two  little  kittens  had  nowhere  to  go; 

So  they  laid  themselves  down  on  a  mat  by  the  door, 
WTiile  the  angry  old  woman  was  sweeping  the  floor. 

And  then  they  crept  in  as  quiet  as  mice, 
All  wet  with  snow,  and  as  cold  as  ice ; 

For  they  found  it  was  better,  that  stormy  night, 
To  lie  down  and  sleep,  than  to  quarrel  and  fight. 

54 


QUEEN   MAB 

A  little  fairy  comes  at  night ; 

Her  eyes  are  blue,  her  hair  is  brown, 
With  silver  spots  upon  her  wings, 

And  from  the  moon  she  flutters  down. 

She  has  a  little  silver  wand, 
And  when  a  good  child  goes  to  bed, 

She  waves  her  wand  from  right  to  left, 
And  makes  a  circle  round  its  head. 

And  then  it  dreams  of  pleasant  things  — 
Of  fountains  filled  with  fairy  fish, 

And  trees  that  bear  delicious  fruit, 
And  bow  their  branches  at  a  wish ; 

Of  arbors  filled  with  dainty  scents 
From  lovely  flowers  that  never  fade, 

Bright  flies  that  glitter  in  the  sun, 
And  glow-worms  shining  in  the  shade; 

And  talking  birds  with  gifted  tongues 
For  singing  songs  and  telling  tales, 
And  pretty  dwarfs  to  show  the  way 
Through  fairy  hills  and  fairy  dales. 

Thomas  Hood. 
55 


WHO  LIKES   THE   RAIN? 

"I,"  said  the  duck,  "I  call  it  fun, 

For  I  have  my  little  red  rubbers  on ; 

They  make  a  cunning  three-toed  track 

In  the  soft,  cool  mud.     Quack!    Quack!     Quack!" 

"I,"  cried  the  dandelion,  "I, 
My  roots  are  thirsty,  my  buds  are  dry"; 
And  she  lifted  a  towsled  yellow  head 
Out  of  her  green  and  grassy  bed. 

"I  hope  'twill  pour!     I  hope  'twill  pour!" 
Purred  the  tree  toad  at  his  gray  back  door, 
"For,  with  a  broad  leaf  for  a  roof, 
I  am  perfectly  weatherproof." 

Sang  the  brook:    "I  laugh  at  every  drop, 
And  wish  they  never  need  to  stop 
Till  a  big,  big  river  I  grew  to  be, 
And  could  find  my  way  out  to  the  sea." 

"I,"  shouted  Ted,  "for  I  can  run, 

With  my  high-top  boots  and  my  rain  coat  on, 

Through  every  puddle  and  runlet  and  pool 

That  I  find  on  my  way  to  school." 

Clara  Doty  Bates. 

56 


KENTUCKY   BABE 

Skeeters  am  a  hummin'  on  de  honeysuckle  vine,  — 

Sleep,  Kentucky  Babe ! 
Sandman  am  a  comin'  to  dis  little  coon  of  mine,  — 

Sleep,  Kentucky  Babe ! 
Silv'ry  moon  am  shinin'  in  de  heabens  up  above, 
Bobolink  am  pinin'  fo'  his  little  lady  love  : 
Yo'  is  mighty  lucky,  babe  of  old  Kentucky,  — 
Close  yo'  eyes  in  sleep. 

Fly  away,  Kentucky  Babe,  fly  away  to  rest, 

Lay  yo'  kinky,  wooly  head  on  yo'  mammy's  breast,  — 

Um-um-um-um,  — 

Close  yo'  eyes  in  sleep. 

Daddy's  in  de  canebrake  wid  his  little  dog  and  gun,  — 

Sleep,  Kentucky  Babe ! 
Possum  fo'  yo'  breakfast  when  yo'  sleepin'  time  is  done,  — 

Sleep,  Kentucky  Babe ! 
Bogie  man'll  catch  yo'  sure  unless  yo'  close  yo'  eyes, 
Waitin'  jes'  outside  de  doo'  to  take  yo'  by  surprise ! 
Bes'  be  keepin'  shady,  little  colored  lady,  - 
Close  yo'  eyes  in  sleep. 

(JJsed  by  permission  of  the  White-Smith  Music  Publishing,  Co.) 

Richard  Henry  Buck. 

57 


THE   RAGGLE,   TAGGLE   GYPSIES 

There  were  three  gypsies  a-come  to  my  door, 

And  downstairs  ran  this  lady,  O. 
One  sang  high  and  another  sang  low, 

And  the  other  sang  "Bonnie,  Bonnie  Biskay,  O." 

Then  she  pulled  off  her  silken  gown, 

And  put  on  hose  of  leather,  O. 
With  the  ragged,  ragged  rags  about  her  door 

She's  off  with  the  Raggle,  Taggle  Gypsies,  0. 

'Twas  late  last  night  when  my  lord  came  home, 

Inquiring  for  his  lady,  O. 
The  servants  said  on  every  hand, 

"She's  gone  with  the  Raggle,  Taggle  Gypsies,  O." 

"Oh,  saddle  for  me  my  milk-white  steed, 

Oh,  saddle  for  me  my  pony,  O, 
That  I  may  ride  and  seek  my  bride 

Who's  gone  with  the  Raggle,  Taggle  Gypsies,  O." 

Oh,  he  rode  high  and  he  rode  low, 
He  rode  through  woods  and  copses,  O, 

Until  he  came  to  an  open  field, 
And  there  he  espied  his  lady,  0. 

58 


"What  makes  you  leave  your  house  and  lands? 

What  makes  you  leave  your  money,  O  ? 
What  makes  you  leave  your  new-wedded  lord 

To  go  with  the  Raggle,  Taggle  Gypsies,  O?" 

"What  care  I  for  my  house  and  lands? 

What  care  I  for  my  money,  O, 
What  care  I  for  my  new-wedded  lord  ? 

I'm  off  with  the  Raggle,  Taggle  Gypsies,  0." 

"Last  night  you  slept  on  a  goose-feather  bed, 
With  the  sheet  turned  down  so  bravely,  O. 

To-night  you  will  sleep  in  the  cold,  open  field, 
Along  with  the  Raggle,  Taggle  Gypsies,  O." 

"What  care  I  for  your  goose-feather  bed, 
With  the  sheet  turned  down  so  bravely,  O  ? 

For  to-night  I  shall  sleep  in  a  cold,  open  field, 
Along  with  the  Raggle,  Taggle  Gypsies,  O." 

Old  Folk  Song. 


59 


A   GOOD   PLAY 

We  built  a  ship  upon  the  stairs 
All  made  of  the  back-bedroom  chairs, 
And  filled  it  full  of  sofa  pillows 
To  go  a-sailing  on  the  billows. 

We  took  a  saw  and  several  nails, 
And  water  in  the  nursery  pails ; 
And  Tom  said,  "Let  us  also  take 
An  apple  and  a  slice  of  cake";  — 
Which  was  enough  for  Tom  and  me 
To  go  a-sailing  on,  till  tea. 

We  sailed  along  for  days  and  days, 
And  had  the  very  best  of  plays ; 
But  Tom  fell  out  and  hurt  his  knee, 
So  there  was  no  one  left  but  me. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 


60 


THE   WIND 

I  saw  you  toss  the  kites  on  high 
And  blow  the  birds  about  the  sky; 
And  all  around  I  heard  you  pass, 
Like  ladies'  skirts  across  the  grass  - 
O  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
O  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song  ! 

I  saw  the  different  things  you  did, 
But  always  you  yourself  you  hid. 
I  felt  you  push,  I  heard  you  call, 
I  could  not  see  yourself  at  all  — 
O  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
O  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song  ! 

O  you  that  are  so  strong  and  cold  ! 
O  blower,  are  you  young  or  old? 
Are  you  a  beast  of  field  and  tree, 
Or  just  a  stronger  child  than  me  ? 
O  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
O  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song  ! 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 
61 


THREE   BUGS 

Three  little  bugs  in  a  basket, 

And  hardly  room  for  two ! 

And  one  was  yellow,  and  one  was  black, 

And  one  like  me,  or  you. 

The  space  was  small,  no  doubt,  for  all; 

But  what  should  three  bugs  do? 

Three  little  bugs  in  a  basket, 

And  hardly  crumbs  for  two; 

And  all  were  selfish  in  their  hearts, 

The  same  as  I  or  you; 

So  the  strong  ones  said,  "We  will  eat  the  bread, 

And  that  is  what  we'll  do." 

Three  little  bugs  in  a  basket, 
And  the  beds  but  two  would  hold; 
So  they  all  three  fell  to  quarreling,  — 
The  white,  and  black,  and  the  gold; 
And  two  of  the  bugs  got  under  the  rugs, 
And  one  was  out  in  the  cold  ! 

So  he  that  was  left  in  the  basket, 
Without  a  crumb  to  chew, 
Or  a  thread  to  wrap  himself  withal, 

62 


When  the  wind  across  him  blew, 

Pulled  one  of  the  rugs  from  one  of  the  bugs, 

And  so  the  quarrel  grew. 

And  so  there  was  war  in  the  basket, 

Oh,  pity  'tis,  'tis  true  ! 

But  he  that  was  frozen,  and  starved,  at  last 

A  strength  from  his  weakness  drew, 

And  pulled  the  rugs  from  both  of  the  bugs, 

And  killed  and  ate  them  too  ! 

Now  when  bugs  live  in  a  basket, 

Though  more  than  it  wrell  can  hold, 

It  seems  to  me  they  had  better  agree,  — 

The  white,  and  the  black,  and  the  gold  — 

And  share  what  comes  of  the  beds  and  the  crumbs, 

And  leave  no  bug  in  the  cold  ! 

Alice  Cary. 


63 


LITTLE    GUSTAVA 

Little  Gustava  sits  in  the  sun, 
Safe  in  the  porch,  and  the  little  drops  run 
From  the  icicles  under  the  eaves  so  fast, 
For  the  bright  spring  sun  shines  warm  at  last, 
And  glad  is  little  Gustava. 

She  wears  a  quaint  little  scarlet  cap, 
And  a  little  green  bowl  she  holds  in  her  lap, 
Filled  with  bread  and  milk  to  the  brim, 
And  a  wreath  of  marigolds  round  the  rim : 
"Ha!  ha!"  laughs  little  Gustava. 

Up  comes  her  little  gray  coaxing  cat 
With  her  little  pink  nose,  and  she  mews,  "What's  that?" 
Gustava  feeds  her,  —  she  begs  for  more ; 
And  a  little  brown  hen  walks  in  at  the  door : 
"Good  day!"  cries  little  Gustava. 

She  scatters  crumbs  for  the  little  brown  hen. 
There  comes,  a  rush  and  a  flutter,  and  then 
Down  fly  her  little  white  doves  so  sweet, 
With  their  snowy  wings  and  crimson  feet : 
"Welcome!"  cries  little  Gustava. 

64 


So  dainty  and  eager  they  pick  up  the  crumbs. 
But  who  is  this  through  the  doorway  comes? 
Little  Scotch  terrier,  little  dog  Rags, 
Looks  in  her  face,  and  his  funny  tail  wags : 
"Ha,  ha!"  laughs  little  Gustava. 

"You  want  some  breakfast  too?"  and  down 
She  sets  her  bowl  on  brick  floor  brown ; 
And  little  dog  Rags  drinks  up  her  milk, 
While  she  strokes  his  shaggy  locks  like  silk : 
"Dear  Rags!"  says  little  Gustava. 

Waiting  without  stood  sparrow  and  crow, 
Cooling  their  feet  in  the  melting  snow : 
"Won't  you  come  in,  good  folk?"  she  cried. 
But  they  were  too  bashful,  and  stood  outside 
Though  "Pray  come  in!"  cried  Gustava. 

So  the  last  she  threw  them,  and  knelt  on  the  mat 
With  doves  and  biddy  and  dog  and  cat. 
And  her  mother  came  to  the  open  house-door 
"Dear  little  daughter,  I  bring  you  some  more. 
My  merry  little  Gustava!" 

BAKER    I 5  65 


Kitty  and  terrier,  biddy  and  doves, 

All  things  harmless  Gustava  loves. 

The  shy,  kind  creatures  'tis  joy  to  feed, 

And,  oh,  her  breakfast  is  sweet  indeed 

To  happy  little  Gustava ! 

Celia  Thaxter. 

FROGS  AT  SCHOOL 

Twenty  froggies  went  to  school 
Down  beside  a  rushy  pool,  — 
Twenty  little  coats  of  green ; 
Twenty  vests,  all  white  and  clean. 
"We  must  be  in  time,"  said  they: 
" First  we  study,  then  we  play: 
That  is  how  we  keep  the  rule, 
When  we  froggies  go  to  school." 

Master  Bullfrog,  grave  and  stern, 
Called  the  classes  in  their  turn ; 
Taught  them  how  to  nobly  strive, 
Likewise  how  to  leap  and  dive ; 
From  his  seat  upon  the  log, 
Showed  them  how  to  say  "Ker-chog!" 
Also  how  to  dodge  a  blow 
From  the  sticks  that  bad  boys  throw. 
66 


Twenty  froggies  grew  up  fast; 
Bullfrogs  they  became  at  last; 
Not  one  dunce  among  the  lot ; 
Not  one  lesson  they  forgot; 
Polished  in  a  high  degree, 
As  each  froggie  ought  to  be, 
Now  they  sit  on  other  logs, 
Teaching  other  little  frogs. 

WINDY  NIGHTS 

Whenever  the  moon  and  stars  are  set, 

Whenever  the  wind  is  high, 
All  night  long  in  the  dark  and  wet, 

A  man  goes  riding  by. 
Late  in  the  night  when  the  fires  are  out, 
Why  does  he  gallop  and  gallop  about  ? 

Whenever  the  trees  are  crying  aloud, 

And  ships  are  tossed  at  sea, 
By,  on  the  highway,  low  and  loud, 

By  at  the  gallop  goes  he. 
By  at  the  gallop  he  goes,  and  then 
By  he  comes  back  at  the  gallop  again. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 
67 


WHERE   DO   ALL   THE   DAISIES   GO? 

Where  do  all  the  daisies  go  ? 

I  know,  I  know  ! 
Underneath  the  snow  they  creep, 
Nod  their  little  heads  and  sleep, 
In  the  springtime  out  they  peep ; 

That  is  where  they  go  ! 

Where  do  all  the  birdies  go  ? 

I  know,  I  know  ! 
Far  away  from  winter  snow, 
To  the  far,  warm  south  they  go ; 
Where  they  stay  till  daisies  blow, 

That  is  where  they  go  ! 

Where  do  all  the  babies  go? 

I  know,  I  know  ! 
In  the  glancing  firelight  warm, 
Safely  sheltered  from  all  harm, 
Soft  they  lie  on  mother's  arm, 

That  is  where  they  go  ! 
68 


OLD   DAME   CRICKET 

Old  Dame  Cricket,  down  in  a  thicket, 
Brought  up  her  children  nine, 

Queer  little  chaps,  in  glossy  black  caps 
And  brown  little  suits  so  fine. 

"My  children,"  she  said, 

"The  birds  are  abed: 
Go  and  make  the  dark  earth  glad  ! 

Chirp  while  you  can!" 

And  then  she  began, 
Till,  oh,  what  a  concert  they  had  ! 

They  hopped  with  delight 

They  chirped  all  night, 
Singing,  "Cheer  up!  cheer  up!  cheer!" 

Old  Dame  Cricket, 

Down  in  the  thicket, 
Sat  awake  till  dawn  to  hear. 

"Nice  children,"  she  said, 

"And  very  well  bred. 
My  darlings  have  done  their  best. 

Their  naps  they  must  take : 

The  birds  are  awake ; 
And  they  can  sing  all  the  rest." 
69 


THE   CITY   MOUSE   AND   THE   GARDEN   MOUSE 

The  city  mouse  lives  in  a  house ;  — 
The  garden  mouse  lives  in  a  bower, 

He's  friendly  with  the  frogs  and  toads, 
And  sees  the  pretty  plants  in  flower. 

The  city  mouse  eats  bread  and  cheese ;  — 
The  garden  mouse  eats  what  he  can; 

We  will  not  grudge  him  seeds  and  stocks, 
Poor  little  timid,  furry  man. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


THE   ROBIN 

When  father  takes  his  spade  to  dig, 

Then  Robin  comes  along. 
He  sits  upon  a  little  twig, 

And  sings  a  little  song. 

Or,  if  the  trees  are  rather  far, 

He  does  not  stay  alone, 
But  comes  up  close  to  where  we  are, 

And  bobs  upon  a  stone. 

Laurence  Alma-Tadema. 

70 


THE   UNSEEN   PLAYMATE 

When  children  are  playing  alone  on  the  green, 
In  comes  the  playmate  that  never  was  seen. 

When  children  are  happy  and  lonely  and  good, 

The  Friend  of  the  Children  comes  out  of  the  wood. 

Nobody  heard  him  and  nobody  saw, 
His  is  a  picture  you  never  could  draw, 

But  he's  sure  to  be  present,  abroad  or  at  home, 
When  children  are  happy  and  playing  alone. 

He  lies  in  the  laurels,  he  runs  on  the  grass, 
He  sings  when  you  tinkle  the  musical  glass ; 

Whene'er  you  are  happy  and  cannot  tell  why, 
The  Friend  of  the  Children  is  sure  to  be  by ! 

He  loves  to  be  little,  he  hates  to  be  big, 

'Tis  he  that  inhabits  the  caves  that  you  dig ; 

'Tis  he  when  you  play  with  your  soldiers  of  tin 
That  sides  with  the  Frenchmen  and  never  can  win. 

'Tis  he,  when  at  night  you  go  off  to  your  bed, 

Bids  you  go  to  sleep  and  not  trouble  your  head ; 
For  wherever  they're  lying,  in  cupboard  or  shelf, 
'Tis  he  will  take  care  of  your  playthings  himself ! 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 
71 


THE   WONDERFUL   WORLD 

Great,  wide,  beautiful,  wonderful  World, 
With  the  wonderful  water  round  you  curled, 
And  the  wonderful  grass  upon  your  breast,  — 
World,  you  are  beautifully  dressed. 

The  wonderful  air  is  over  me, 
And  the  wonderful  wind  is  shaking  the  tree, 
It  walks  on  the  water,  and  whirls  the  mills, 
And  talks  to  itself  on  the  top  of  the  hills. 

You  friendly  Earth  !  how  far  do  you  go 

With  the  wheat  fields  that  nod  and  the  rivers  that  flow, 

With  cities  and  gardens,  and  cliffs,  and  isles 

And  people  upon  you  for  thousands  of  miles  ? 

Ah  !  you  are  so  great,  and  I  am  so  small, 

I  tremble  to  think  of  you,  World,  at  all ; 

And  yet,  when  I  said  my  prayers,  to-day, 

A  whisper  inside  me  seemed  to  say, 

"You  are  more  than  the  Earth,  though  you  are  such  a  dot : 

You  can  love  and  think,  and  the  Earth  cannot!" 

W.  B.  Rands. 


72 


FAREWELL   TO   THE   FARM 

The  coach  is  at  the  door  at  last ; 
The  eager  children,  mounting  fast 
And  kissing  hands,  in  chorus  sing : 
Good-by,  good-by,  to  everything  ! 

To  house  and  garden,  field,  and  lawn, 
The  meadow  gates  we  swang  upon, 
To  pump  and  stable,  tree  and  swing, 
Good-by,  good-by,  to  everything  ! 

And  fare  you  well  for  evermore, 
O  ladder  at  the  hayloft  door, 
0  hayloft,  where  the  cobwebs  cling, 
Good-by,  good-by,  to  everything  ! 

Crack  goes  the  whip,  and  off  we  go ; 
The  trees  and  houses  smaller  grow ; 
Last,  round  the  woody  turn  we  swing ; 
Good-by,  good-by,  to  everything  ! 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 
73 


GAELIC   LULLABY 

Hush  !  the  waves  are  rolling  in, 

White  with  foam,  white  with  foam; 

Father  toils  amid  the  din ; 
But  baby  sleeps  at  home. 

Hush  !  the  winds  roar  hoarse  and  deep,  — 
On  they  come,  on  they  come  ! 

Brother  seeks  the  wandering  sheep ; 
But  baby  sleeps  at  home. 

Hush  !  the  rain  sweeps  o'er  the  knowes,1 
Where  they  roam,  where  they  roam ; 

Sister  goes  to  seek  the  cows ; 
But  baby  sleeps  at  home. 


A    CHILD'S    GRACE 

Some  hae  meat  and  canna  eat, 

And  some  wad  eat  that  want  it; 
But  we  hae  meat  and  we  can  eat, 

And  sae  the  Lord  be  thankit. 

Robert  Burns. 

1  Knowes,  low  hills. 
74 


CHILD'S   EVENING  HYMN 

Now  the  day  is  over, 
Night  is  drawing  nigh, 

Shadows  of  the  evening 
Steal  across  the  sky. 

Now  the  darkness  gathers, 

Stars  begin  to  peep. 
Birds,  and  beasts,  and  flowers 

Soon  will  be  asleep. 

Jesu,  give  the  weary 
Calm  and  sweet  repose ; 

With  Thy  tend'rest  blessing 
May  mine  eyelids  close. 

Grant  to  little  children 
Visions  bright  of  Thee ; 

Guard  the  sailors  tossing 
On  the  deep  blue  sea. 

Comfort  every  sufferer 
Watching  late  in  pain ; 

Those  who  plan  some  evil, 
From  their  sin  restrain. 

75 


Through  the  long  night  watches 

May  Thine  angels  spread 
Their  white  wings  above  me, 

Watching  round  my  bed. 

When  the  morning  wakens, 

Then  may  I  arise, 
Pure  and  fresh  and  sinless 

In  Thy  holy  eyes. 

S.  Baring-Gould. 


GOOD-NIGHT 

Good-night  !    Good-night  ! 
Far  flies  the  light  ; 
But  still  God's  love 
Shall  flame  above, 
Making  all  bright. 
Good-night  !     Good-night  ! 


76 


PART    TWO 


The  world's  a  very  happy  place, 

Where  every  child  should  dance  and  sing, 

And  always  have  a  smiling  face, 
And  never  sulk  for  anything. 

Gabriel  Setoun. 


78 


WHAT  THE   WINDS   BRING 

Which  is  the  wind  that  brings  the  cold? 

The  North  Wind,  Freddie,  and  all  the  snow, 
And  the  sheep  will  scamper  into  the  fold, 

When  the  North  begins  to  blow. 

Which  is  the  wind  that  brings  the  heat? 

The  South  Wind,  Katy ;    and  corn  will  grow, 
And  peaches  redden  for  you  to  eat, 

When  the  South  begins  to  blow. 

Which  is  the  wind  that  brings  the  rain? 

The  East  Wind,  Arty;    and  farmers  know 
That  cows  come  shivering  up  the  lane, 

When  the  East  begins  to  blow. 

Which  is  the  wind  that  brings  the  flowers? 

The  West  Wind,  Bessy;    and  soft  and  low 
The  birdies  sing  in  the  summer  hours, 
When  the  West  begins  to  blow. 

Edmund  Clarence  Stedman. 
79 


FOREIGN   CHILDREN 

Little  Indian,  Sioux  or  Crow, 

Little  frosty  Eskimo, 

Little  Turk  or  Japanee, 

Oh  !  don't  you  wish  that  you  were  me  ? 

You  have  seen  the  scarlet  trees 

And  the  lions  over  seas ; 

You  have  eaten  ostrich  eggs, 

And  turned  the  turtles  off  their  legs. 

Such  a  life  is  very  fine, 
But  it's  not  so  nice  as  mine ; 
You  must  often,  as  you  trod, 
Have  wrearied  not  to  be  abroad. 

You  have  curious  things  to  eat, 
I  am  fed  on  proper  meat ; 
You  must  dwell  beyond  the  foam, 
But  I  am  safe  and  live  at  home. 

Little  Indian,  Sioux  or  Crow, 

Little  frosty  Eskimo, 

Little  Turk  or  Japanee, 

Oh  !  don't  you  wish  that  you  were  me  ? 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

80 


THE   LOST   DOLL 

I  once  had  a  sweet  little  doll,  dears, 

The  prettiest  doll  in  the  world ; 
Her  cheeks  were  so  red  and  white,  dears, 

And  her  hair  was  so  charmingly  curled. 
But  I  lost  my  poor  little  doll,  dears, 

As  I  played  on  the  heath  one  day; 
And  I  cried  for  her  more  than  a  week,  dears, 

But  I  never  could  find  where  she  lay. 

I  found  my  poor  little  doll,  dears, 

As  I  played  on  the  heath  one  day ; 
Folks  say  she  is  terribly  changed,  dears, 

For  her  paint  is  all  washed  away, 
And  her  arms  trodden  off  by  the  cows,  dears, 

And  her  hair  not  the  least  bit  curled ; 
Yet  for  old  sake's  sake,  she  is  still,  dears, 

The  prettiest  doll  in  the  world. 

Charles  Kingsley. 

DAISIES 

At  evening  when  I  go  to  bed, 
I  see  the  stars  shine  overhead. 
They  are  the  little  daisies  white 
That  dot  the  meadows  of  the  night. 

BAKER   I  —  6  8 1 


And  often,  while  I'm  dreaming  so, 
Across  the  sky  the  moon  will  go. 
She  is  a  lady  sweet  and  fair, 
Who  comes  to  gather  daisies  there. 

For,  when  at  morning  I  arise, 

There's  not  a  star  left  in  the  skies; 

She's  picked  them  all  and  dropped  them  down 

Into  the  meadows  of  the  town. 

Frank  Dempster  Sherman. 


THE   MAN   IN   THE   MOON 

The  Man  in  the  Moon  as  he  sails  the  sky 

Is  a  very  remarkable  skipper. 

But  he  made  a  mistake 

When  he  tried  to  take 

A  drink  of  milk  from  the  Dipper. 

He  dipped  right  into  the  Milky  Way 
And  slowly  and  carefully  filled  it. 
The  Big  Bear  growled 
And  the  Little  Bear  howled, 
And  scared  him  so  that  he  spilled  it. 
82 


ttfe   i 

TOPSY   TURVY  WORLD 

If  the  butterfly  courted  the  bee, 

And  the  owl  the  porcupine ; 
If  churches  were  built  in  the  sea, 

And  three  times  one  was  nine ; 
If  the  pony  rode  his  master, 

If  the  buttercups  ate  the  cows, 
If  the  cats  had  the  dire  disaster 

To  be  worried,  sir,  by  the  mouse ; 
If  mamma,  sir,  sold  the  baby 

To  a  gypsy  for  half  a  crown ; 
If  a  gentleman,  sir,  was  a  lady,  — 

The  world  would  be  upside-down  ! 
If  any  or  all  of  these  wonders 

Should  ever  come  about, 
I  should  not  consider  them  blunders, 

For  I  should  be  inside-out. 

William  B.  Rands. 
83 


WHEN 

When  cherries  grow  on  apples  trees, 

And  kittens  wear  lace  caps, 
And  boys  their  sisters  never  tease, 

And  bears  wear  woolen  wraps; 

When  all  the  nursery  dolls  and  toys 

Begin  to  dance  and  play, 
Then  little  girls  and  little  boys 

May  lie  in  bed  all  day. 

When  donkeys  learn  to  sing  and  dance, 

When  pigs  talk  politics, 
When  London  is  a  town  of  France, 

When  two  and  two  make  six, 

When  drops  of  rain  are  real  pearls, 

When  coal  is  clear  and  white, 
Then  little  boys  and  little  girls 
May  sit  up  late  at  night. 

Clifton  Bingham. 
84 


THE   BLUEBIRD 

I  know  the  song  that  the  bluebird  is  singing, 
Out  in  the  apple  tree  where  he  is  swinging, 
Brave  little  fellow  !  the  skies  may  be  dreary, 
Nothing  cares  he  while  his  heart  is  so  cheery. 

Hark  !  how  the  music  leaps  out  from  his  throat ! 
Hark  !  was  there  ever  so  merry  a  note  ? 
Listen  awhile,  and  you'll  hear  what  he's  saying, 
Up  in  the  apple  tree,  swinging  and  swaying : 

"Dear  little  blossoms,  down  under  the  snow, 
You  must  be  weary  of  winter,  I  know ; 
Hark  !  while  I  sing  you  a  message  of  cheer, 
Summer  is  coming  and  springtime  is  here  ! 

"Little  white  snowdrop,  I  pray  you  arise; 
Bright  yellow  crocus,  come,  open  your  eyes; 
Sweet  little  violets  hid  from  the  cold, 
Put  on  your  mantles  of  purple  and  gold ; 
Daffodils,  daffodils  !  say,  do  you  hear  ? 
Summer  is  coming,  and  springtime  is  here!" 

Emily  Huntington  Miller. 


85 


INDIAN   LULLABY 

Rock-a-by,  hush-a-by,  little  papoose, 

The  stars  come  into  the  sky ; 
The  whippoor will's  crying,  the  daylight  is  dying, 

The  river  runs  murmuring  by. 

The  pine  trees  are  slumbering,  little  papoose, 

The  squirrel  has  gone  to  his  nest ; 
The  robins  are  sleeping,  the  mother  bird's  keeping 

The  little  ones  warm  with  her  breast. 

The  roebuck  is  dreaming,  my  little  papoose, 

His  mate  lies  asleep  at  his  side ; 
The  breezes  are  pining,  the  moonbeams  are  shining 

All  over  the  prairie  wide. 

Then  hush-a-by,  rock-a-by,  little  papoose, 

You  sail  on  the  river  of  dreams ; 
Dear  Manitou  loves  you  and  watches  above  you- 
Till  time  when  the  morning  light  gleams. 

Charles  Myall. 
86 


SWEET  AND   LOW 

Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea, 
Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea ! 
Over  the  rolling  waters  go, 
Come  from  the  dying  moon  and  blow, 

Blow  him  again  to  me ; 
While  my  little  one,  while  my  pretty  one  sleeps. 

Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon ; 
Rest,  rest,  on  mother's  breast, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 
Father  will  come  to  his  babe  in  the  nest; 
Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west, 

Under  the  silver  moon : 
Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep,  my  pretty  one,  sleep. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


87 


THE   WAY   THE   MORNING   DAWNS 

This  is  the  way  the  morning  dawns : 
Rosy  tints  on  flowers  and  trees, 
Winds  that  wake  the  birds  and  bees, 
Dewdrops  on  the  fields  and  lawns  — ■ 
This  is  the  way  the  morning  dawns: 

This  is  the  way  the  sun  comes  up : 
Gold  on  brook  and  glossy  leaves, 
Mist  that  melts  above  the  sheaves, 
Vine,  and  rose,  and  buttercup  — 
This  is  the  way  the  sun  comes  up. 

This  is  the  way  the  river  flows : 

Here  a  whirl  and  there  a  dance; 
Slowly  now,  then  like  a  lance ; 
Swiftly  to  the  sea  it  goes  — 
This  is  the  way  the  river  flows. 

This  is  the  way  the  rain  comes  down : 
Tinkle,  tinkle,  drop  by  drop, 
Over  roof  and  chimney  top ; 
Boughs  that  bend,  and  skies  that  frown  - 
This  is  the  way  the  rain  comes  down. 
88 


THANKSGIVING   DAY 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood, 

To  grandfather's  house  we  go ; 
The  horse  knows  the  way 

To  carry  the  sleigh 
Through  the  white  and  drifted  snow. 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood  — 
Oh,  how  the  wind  does  blow  ! 

It  stings  the  toes  and  bites  the  nose, 
As  over  the  ground  we  go. 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood, 

To  have  a  first-rate  play. 
Hear  the  bells  ring,  "  Ting-a-ling-ding  ! " 

Hurrah  for  Thanksgiving  Day  ! 
Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood 

Trot  fast,  my  dapple-gray  ! 
Spring  over  the  ground,  like  a  hunting  hound  ! 
For  this  is  Thanksgiving  Day. 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood, 
And  straight  through  the  barnyard  gate. 

We  seem  to  go  extremely  slow,  — 
It  is  so  hard  to  wait ! 
89 


Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood  — 

Now  grandmother's  cap  I  spy  ! 
Hurrah  for  the  fun  !     Is  the  pudding  done  ? 
Hurrah  for  the  pumpkin  pie  ! 

Lydia  Maria  Child. 

LADY   MOON 

"Lady  Moon,  Lady  Moon,  where  are  you  roving?" 

"Over  the  sea." 
""Lady  Moon,  Lady  Moon,  whom  are  you  loving?" 

"All  that  love  me." 

"Are  you  not  tired  with  rolling    and  never 

Resting  to  sleep  ? 
Why  look  so  pale  and  so  sad,  as  forever 

Wishing  to  weep?" 

"Ask  me  not  this,  little  child,  if  you  love  me; 

You  are  too  bold  : 
I  must  obey  my  dear  Father  above  me, 

And  do  as  I'm  told." 

"Lady  Moon,  Lady  Moon,  where  are  you  roving?" 

"Over  the  sea." 

"Lady  Moon,  Lady  Moon,  whom  are  you  loving?" 

"All  that  love  me." 

Lord  Houghton. 

90 


SEVEN   TIMES   ONE 

There's  no  dew  left  on  the  daisies  and  clover, 

There's  no  rain  left  in  heaven ; 
I've  said  my  "seven  times"  over  and  over  — 

Seven  times  one  are  seven. 

I  am  old  !    so  old,  I  can  write  a  letter, 

My  birthday  lessons  are  done : 
The  lambs  play  always,  they  know  no  better; 

They  are  only  one  times  one. 

0  moon  !    in  the  night  I  have  seen  you  sailing 
And  shining  so  round  and  low ; 

You  were  bright !   ah  bright  !   but  your  light  is  failing ; 
You  are  nothing  now  but  a  bow. 

You  moon,  have  you  done  something  wrong  in  heaven, 
That  God  has  hidden  your  face  ? 

1  hope  if  you  have  you  will  soon  be  forgiven, 
And  shine  again  in  your  place. 

O  velvet  bee,  you're  a  dusty  fellow, 
You've  powdered  your  legs  with  gold  ! 

O  brave  marsh  marybuds,  rich  and  yellow7 ! 
Give  me  your  money  to  hold. 

91 


0  columbine,  open  your  folded  wrapper 
Where  two  twin  turtle-doves  dwell ; 

0  cuckoopint !    toll  me  the  purple  clapper, 
That  hangs  in  your  clear,  green  bell, 

And  show  me  your  nest  with  the  young  ones  in  it, 
I  will  not  steal  them  away; 

1  am  old  !    you  may  trust  me,  linnet,  linnet,  — 

I  am  seven  times  one  to-day  ! 

Jean  Ingelow. 

ROMANCE 

I  saw  a  ship  a-sailing, 

A-sailing  on  the  sea ; 
Her  masts  were  of  the  shining  gold, 

Her  deck  of  ivory; 
And  sails  of  silk,  as  soft  as  milk, 

And  silvern  shrouds  had  she. 

And  round  about  her  sailing, 

The  sea  was  sparkling  white, 
The  waves  all  clapped  their  hands  and  sang 

To  see  so  fair  a  sight. 
They  kissed  her  twice,  they  kissed  her  thrice, 

And  murmured  with  delight. 
92 


Then  came  the  gallant  captain, 

And  stood  upon  the  deck ; 
In  velvet  coat,  and  ruffles  white, 

Without  a  spot  or  speck ; 
And  diamond  rings,  and  triple  strings 

Of  pearls  around  his  neck. 

And  four-and-twenty  sailors 

Were  round  him  bowing  low ; 
On  every  jacket  three  times  three 

Gold  buttons  in  a  row ; 
And  cutlasses  down  to  their  knees ; 

They  made  a  goodly  show. 

And  then  the  ship  went  sailing, 

A-sailing  o'er  the  sea ; 
She  dived  beyond  the  setting  sun, 

But  never  back  came  she, 
For  she  found  the  lands  of  the  golden  sands, 

Where  the  pearls  and  diamonds  be. 

Gabriel  Setoi  \. 


93 


LADYBIRD 

Ladybird  !  Ladybird  !  fly  away  home ; 

The  field  mouse  is  gone  to  her  nest, 
The  daisies  have  shut  up  their  sleepy  red  eyes, 

And  the  birds  and  the  bees  are  at  rest. 

Ladybird  !  Ladybird  !  fly  away  home ; 

The  glowworm  is  lighting  her  lamp, 
The  dew's  falling  fast,  and  your  fine  speckled  wings, 

Will  flag  !  with  the  close-clinging  damp. 

Ladybird  !  Ladybird  !  fly  away  home ; 

To  your  house  in  the  old  willow  tree, 
Where  your  children  so  dear  have  invited  the  ant 

And  a  few  cozy  neighbors  to  tea. 

Ladybird  !  Ladybird  !  fly  away  home ; 

The  fairy  bells  tinkle  afar; 
Make  haste,  or  they'll  catch  you  and  harness  you  fast 

With  a  cobweb  to  Oberon's  2  car. 

Caroline  B.  Southey. 

1  flag :  droop.  2  Oberon  :  King  of  the  fairies. 

94 


THE   FAIRIES 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 
Down  the  rushy  glen, 

We  daren't  go  a-hunting 
For  fear  of  little  men; 

Wee  folk,  good  folk, 
Trooping  all  together; 

Green  jacket,  red  cap, 
And  white  owl's  feather ! 

Down  along  the  rocky  shore 
Some  make  their  home ; 

They  live  on  crispy  pancakes 
Of  yellow  tide  foam ; 

Some  in  the  reeds 

Of  the  black  mountain  lake, 
With  frogs  for  their  watchdogs, 

All  night  awake. 

High  on  the  hilltop 

The  old  King  sits ; 
He  is  now  so  old  and  gray, 

He's  nigh  lost  his  wits. 
95 


With  a  bridge  of  white  mist 

Columbkill  he  crosses, 
On  his  stately  journeys 

From  Slieveleague  to  Rosses : 

Or  going  up  with  music 

On  cold  starry  nights, 
To  sup  with  the  Queen 

Of  the  gay  Northern  Lights. 

They  stole  little  Bridget 

For  seven  years  long; 
When  she  came  down  again, 

Her  friends  were  all  gone. 

They  took  her  lightly  back, 

Between  the  night  and  morrow; 

They  thought  that  she  was  fast  asleep, 
But  she  was  dead  with  sorrow. 

They  have  kept  her  ever  since 

Deep  within  the  lake, 
On  a  bed  of  flag  leaves, 

Watching  till  she  wake. 
96 


By  the  craggy  hillside, 

Through  the  mosses  bare, 
They  have  planted  thorn  trees 

For  pleasure  here  and  there. 

If  any  man  so  daring 

As  dig  them  up  in  spite, 
He  shall  find  their  sharpest  thorns 

In  his  bed  at  night. 

WYNKEN,   BLYNKEN,   AND   NOD 

Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod  one  night 

Sailed  off  in  a  wooden  shoe,  - 
Sailed  on  a  river  of  crystal  light 

Into  a  sea  of  dew. 
"Where  are  you  going,  and  what  do  you  wish?" 

The  old  moon  asked  the  three. 
"We  have  come  to  fish  for  the  herring-fish 
That  live  in  this  beautiful  sea ; 
Nets  of  silver  and  gold  have  we," 
Said 

Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

BAKER    1  —  7  97 


The  old  moon  laughed  and  sang  a  song, 

As  they  rocked  in  the  wooden  shoe ; 
And  the  wind  that  sped  them  all  night  long 

Ruffled  the  waves  of  dew. 
The  little  stars  were  the  herring-rlsh 

That  lived  in  the  beautiful  sea ; 
"Now  cast  your  nets  wherever  you  wish, — 
Never  afeard  are  we!" 
So  cried  the  stars  to  the  fishermen  three, 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

All  night  long  their  nets  they  threw 

To  the  stars  in  the  twinkling  foam,  — 
Then  down  from  the  skies  came  the  wooden  shoe, 

Bringing  the  fishermen  home : 
'Twas  all  so  pretty  a  sail,  it  seemed 

As  if  it  could  not  be ; 
And  some  folk  thought  'twas  a  dream  they'd  dreamed 

Of  sailing  that  beautiful  sea; 

But  I  shall  name  you  the  fishermen  three : 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And  Nod. 
98 


Wynken  and  Blynken  are  two  little  eyes, 

And  Nod  is  a  little  head, 
And  the  wooden  shoe  that  sailed  the  skies 

Is  a  wee  one's  trundle-bed; 
So  shut  your  eyes  while  mother  sings 

Of  wonderful  sights  that  be, 
And  you  shall  see  the  beautiful  things 

As  you  rock  on  the  misty  sea 

Where  the  old  shoe  rocked  the  fishermen  three, 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And  Nod. 

Eugene  Field. 

MR.   NOBODY 

I  know  a  funny  little  man, 

As  quiet  as  a  mouse, 
Who  does  the  mischief  that  is  done 

In  everybody's  house  ! 

There's  no  one  ever  sees  his  face, 

And  yet  we  all  agree 
That  every  plate  we  break  was  cracked 

By  Mr.  Nobody. 

99 


'Tis  he  who  always  tears  our  books, 

Who  leaves  the  door  ajar, 
He  pulls  the  buttons  from  our  shirts, 

And  scatters  pins  afar; 

That  squeaking  door  will  always  squeak, 

For,  prithee,  don't  you  see, 
We  leave  the  oiling  to  be  done 

By  Mr.  Nobody. 

He  puts  damp  wood  upon  the  fire, 

That  kettles  cannot  boil ; 
His  are  the  feet  that  bring  in  mud, 

And  all  the  carpets  soil. 

The  finger  marks  upon  the  door 

By  none  of  us  are  made ; 
We  never  leave  the  blinds  unclosed, 

To  let  the  curtains  fade. 

The  ink  we  never  spill ;    the  boots 

That  lying  round  you  see 
Are  not  our  boots ;  —  they  all  belong 

To  Mr.  Nobody. 

ioo 


A    BOY'S   SONG 
Where  the  pools  are  bright  and  deep, 

Where  the  gray  trout  lies  asleep, 
Up  the  river  and  o'er  the  lea, 

That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  blackbird  sings  the  latest, 

Where  the  hawthorn  bloom-  the  sweetest, 

Where  the  nestlings  chirp  and  flee, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  mowers  mow  the  cleanest, 
Where  the  hay  lies  thick  and  greenesl , 

There  to  trace  the  homeward  bee, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  hazel  bank  is  steepest, 
Where  the  shadow  falls  the  deepest, 

Where  the  clustering  nuts  fall  free, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

But  this  I  know,  I  love  to  play, 
Through  the  meadow,  among  the  hay 

Up  the  water  and  over  the  lea, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

James  Hogg. 


LITTLE   GIRLS 

Ir  no  one  ever  marries  me,  — 
And  I  don't  see  why  they  should, 

For  nurse  says  I'm  not  pretty, 
And  I'm  seldom  very  good  — 

If  no  one  ever  marries  me 

I  shan't  mind  very  much, 
I  shall  buy  a  squirrel  in  a  cage, 

And  a  little  rabbit  hutch ; 

I  shall  have  a  cottage  near  a  wood 

And  a  pony  all  my  own, 
And  a  little  lamb,  quite  clean  and  tame, 

That  I  can  take  to  town ; 

And  when  I'm  getting  really  old,  — 

At  twenty-eight  or  nine  — 
I  shall  buy  a  little  orphan  girl 

And  bring  her  up  as  mine. 

Laurence  Alma-Tadema. 


102 


A   NAUTICAL   BALLAD 

A  capital  ship  for  an  ocean  trip, 

Was  the  Walloping  Window-Blind. 
No  gale  that  blew  dismayed  her  crew, 

Nor  troubled  the  captain's  mind. 

The  man  at  the  wheel  was  taught  to  feel 

Contempt  for  the  wildest  blow ; 
And  it  often  appeared  —  when  the  weather  had  cleared 

He  had  been  in  his  bunk  below. 

The  boatswain's  mate  was  very  sedate, 

Yet  fond  of  amusement  too ; 
And  he  played  hopscotch  with  the  starboard  watch, 

While  the  captain  tickled  the  crew. 

And  the  gunner  we  had  was  apparently  mad, 

For  he  sat  on  the  after-rail 
And  fired  salutes  with  the  captain's  boots 

In  the  teeth  of  the  booming  gale. 

The  captain  sat  on  the  commodore's  hat, 

And  dined  in  a  royal  way, 
Off  toasted  pigs  and  pickles  and  figs 

And  gunnery  bread  each  day. 

103 


The  cook  was  Dutch  and  behaved  as  such, 

For  the  diet  he  gave  the  crew, 
Was  a  number  of  tons  of  hot  cross-buns, 

Served  up  with  sugar  and  glue. 

All  nautical  pride  we  laid  aside, 

And  we  cast  our  vessel  ashore, 
On  the  Gulliby  Isles,  where  the  Poo-Poo  smiles 

And  the  Rumpletum-Bunders  roar. 

We  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  sandy  ledge, 

And  shot  at  the  whistling  bee : 
And  the  cinnamon  bats  wore  waterproof  hats, 

As  they  danced  by  the  sounding  sea. 

On  Rug-gub  bark,  from  dawn  till  dark, 

We  fed,  till  we  all  had  grown 
Uncommonly  shrunk;  when  a  Chinese  junk 

Came  in  from  the  Torriby  Zone. 

She  was  stubby  and  square,  but  we  didn't  much  care, 

So  we  cheerily  put  to  sea; 
And  we  left  the  crew  of  the  junk  to  chew, 
The  bark  of  the  Rug-gub  tree. 

Charles  Edward  Carryl. 
104 


THE  JUMBLIES 

They  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve,  they  did; 
In  a  sieve  they  went  to  sea : 
In  spite  of  all  their  friends  could  say, 
On  a  winter's  morn,  on  a  stormy  day, 
In  a  sieve  they  went  to  sea. 

And  when  the  sieve  turned  round  and  round, 
And  every  one  cried,  "You'll  all  be  drowned!" 
They  called  aloud,  "Our  sieve  ain't  big; 
But  we  don't  care  a  button ;    we  don't  care  a  fi 
In  a  sieve  we'll  go  to  sea!" 


Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live ; 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue ; 

And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 

They  sailed  away  in  a  sieve,  they  did, 
In  a  sieve  they  sailed  so  fast, 
With  only  a  beautiful  pea-green  veil 
Tied  with  a  ribbon,  by  way  of  a  sail, 
To  a  small  tobacco-pipe  mast. 

105 


And  every  one  said  who  saw  them  go, 
"Oh!  won't  they  be  soon  upset,  you  know? 
For  the  sky  is  dark,  and  the  voyage  is  long; 
And,  happen  what  may,  it's  extremely  wrong 
In  a  sieve  to  sail  so  fast." 

Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live ; 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue ; 

And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 

The  water  it  soon  came  in,  it  did ; 

The  water  it  soon  came  in : 

So,  to  keep  them  dry,  they  wrapped  their  feet 

In  a  pinky  paper  all  folded  neat ; 

And  they  fastened  it  down  with  a  pin. 

And  they  passed  the  night  in  a  crockery  jar ; 
And  each  of  them  said,  "How  wise  we  are  ! 
Though  the  sky  be  dark,  and  the  voyage  be  long, 
Yet  wre  never  can  think  we  were  rash  or  wrong, 
While  round  in  our  sieve  we  spin." 

Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live ; 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue; 

And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 
1 06 


And  all  night  long  they  sailed  away ; 
And  when  the  sun  went  down, 
They  whistled  and  warbled  a  moony  song, 
To  the  echoing  sound  of  a  coppery  gong, 
In  the  shade  of  the  mountains  brown. 

"O  Timballoo  !     How  happy  we  are 
When  we  live  in  a  sieve  and  a  crockery  jar  ! 
All  night  long  in  the  moonlight  pale, 
We  sail  away  with  a  pea-green  sail 

In  the  shade  of  the  mountains  brown." 

Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live ; 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue ; 

And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 

They  sailed  to  the  Western  Sea,  they  did,  — 
To  a  land  all  covered  with  trees ; 
And  they  bought  an  owl,  and  a  useful  cart, 
And  a  pound  of  rice,  and  a  cranberry  tart, 
And  a  hive  of  silvery  bees ; 

And  they  bought  a  pig,  and  some  green  jackdaws, 
And  a  lovely  monkey  with  lollipop  paws, 
And  forty  bottles  of  ring-bo-ree, 
And  no  end  of  Stilton  cheese. 

107 


Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live ; 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue ; 

And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 

And  in  twenty  years  they  all  came  back,  — 
In  twenty  years  or  more ; 

And  every  one  said,  "How  tall  they've  grown! 
For  they've  been  to  the  Lakes,  and  the  Torrible  Zone, 
And  the  hills  of  the  Chankly  Bore." 

And  they  drank  their  health,  and  gave  them  a  feast 
Of  dumpling  made  of  beautiful  yeast ; 
And  every  one  said,  "If  we  only  live, 
We,  too,  will  go  to  sea  in  a  sieve, 
To  the  hills  of  the  Chankly  Bore." 

Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live ; 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue ; 

And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 

Edward  Lear. 


i  08 


THE   LOST   LAMB 

Storm  upon  the  mountain, 

Night  upon  its  throne  ! 
And  the  little  snow-white  lamb, 

Left  alone,  alone  ! 
Storm  upon  the  mountain, 

Rainy  torrents  beating, 
And  the  little  snow-white  lamb, 

Bleating,  ever  bleating  ! 

Down  the  glen  the  shepherd 

Drives  his  flock  afar ; 
Through  the  mirky  mist  and  cloud, 

Shines  no  beacon  star. 
Fast  he  hurries  onward, 

Never  hears  the  moan 
Of  the  pretty  snow-white  lamb, 

Left  alone,  alone. 

At  the  shepherd's  doorway 

Stands  his  little  son ; 
Sees  the  sheep  come  trooping  home, 

Counts  them  one  by  one ; 
109 


Counts  them  full  and  fairly,  — 

Trace  he  findeth  none 
Of  the  little  snow-white  lamb, 

Left  alone,  alone. 

Up  the  glen  he  races, 

Breasts  the  bitter  wind, 
Scours  across  the  plain  and  leaves 

Wood  and  wold  behind ;  — 
Storm  upon  the  mountain, 

Night  upon  its  throne,  — 
There  he  finds  the  little  lamb, 

Left  alone,  alone. 

Struggling,  panting,  sobbing, 

Kneeling  on  the  ground, 
Round  the  pretty  creature's  neck 

Both  his  arms  are  wound ; 
Soon  within  his  bosom, 

All  its  bleatings  done, 
Home  he  bears  the  little  lamb, 

Left  alone,  alone. 

Oh  !  the  happy  faces, 
By  the  shepherd's  fire  ! 
no 


High  without  the  tempest  roars, 

But  the  laugh  rings  higher. 
Young  and  old  together 

Make  that  joy  their  own,  — 
In  their  midst  the  little  lamb, 

Left  alone,  alone. 

Thomas  Westwood. 

THE  MOON 

The  moon  has  a  face  like  the  clock  in  the  hall ; 

She  shines  on  thieves  on  the  garden  wall, 
On  streets  and  fields  and  harbor  quays, 

And  birdies  asleep  in  the  forks  of  the  trees. 

The  squalling  cat  and  the  squeaking  mouse, 
The  howling  dog  by  the  door  of  the  house, 

The  bat  that  lies  in  bed  at  noon, 

All  love  to  be  out  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

But  all  of  the  things  that  belong  to  the  day 

Cuddle  to  sleep  to  be  out  of  her  way ; 
And  flowers  and  children  close  their  eyes 
Till  up  in  the  morning  the  sun  shall  arise. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson, 
hi 


SANTA   CLAUS 

He  comes  in  the  night !  he  comes  in  the  night ! 

He  softly,  silently  comes ; 
While  the  little  brown  heads  on  the  pillows  so  white 

Are  dreaming  of  bugles  and  drums. 

He  cuts  through  the  snow  like  a  ship  through  the  foam, 

While  the  white  flakes  around  him  whirl ; 
Who  tells  him  I  know  not,  but  he  findeth  the  home 
Of  each  good  little  boy  and  girl. 

His  sleigh  it  is  long,  and  deep,  and  wide ; 

It  will  carry  a  host  of  things, 
While  dozens  of  drums  hang  over  the  side, 

With  the  sticks  sticking  under  the  strings. 

And  yet  not  the  sound  of  a  drum  is  heard, 
Not  a  bugle  blast  is  blown, 
",As  he  mounts  to  the  chimney  top  like  a  bird, 
And  drops  to  the  hearth  like  a  stone. 

The  little  red  stockings  he  silently  fills, 

Till  the  stockings  will  hold  no  more ; 
The  bright  little  sleds  for  the  great  snow  hills 

Are  quickly  set  down  on  the  floor. 


Then  Santa  Claus  mounts  to  the  roof  like  a  bird, 

And  glides  to  his  seat  in  the  sleigh ; 
Not  the  sound  of  a  bugle  or  drum  is  heard 

As  he  noiselessly  gallops  away. 

He  rides  to  the  East,  and  he  rides  to  the  West, 

Of  his  goodies  he  touches  not  one ; 
He  eateth  the  crumbs  of  the  Christmas  feast 

When  the  dear  little  folks  are  done. 

Old  Santa  Claus  doeth  all  that  he  can ; 

This  beautiful  mission  is  his ; 
Then,  children,  be  good  to  the  little  old  man 

When  you  find  who  the  little  man  is. 

Unknown. 


A   VISTT   FROM   ST.   NICHOLAS 

'Twas  the  night  before  Christmas,  when  all  through 
the  house 

Not  a  creature  was  stirring,  not  even  a  mouse ; 
The  stockings  were  hung  by  the  chimney  with  care, 

In  hopes  that  St.  Nicholas  soon  would  be  there. 

BAKER   I  —  8  113 


The  children  were  nestled  all  snug  in  their  beds, 

While  visions  of  sugarplums  danced  in  their  heads ; 
And  mamma  in  her  'kerchief,  and  I  in  my  cap, 

Had  just  settled  our  brains  for  a  long  winter's  nap, 
When  out  on  the  lawn  there  arose  such  a  clatter, 

I  sprang  from  the  bed  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
Away  to  the  window  I  flew  like  a  flash, 

Tore  open  the  shutters  and  threw  up  the  sash. 

The  moon  on  the  breast  of  the  new-fallen  snow 

Gave  the  luster  of  midday  to  objects  below, 
When,  what  to  my  wondering  eyes  should  appear, 

But  a  miniature  sleigh,  and  eight  tiny  reindeer, 
With  a  little  old  driver,  so  lively  and  quick, 

I  knew  in  a  moment  it  must  be  St.  Nick. 
More  rapid  than  eagles  his  coursers  they  came, 

And  he  whistled,  and  shouted,  and  called  them  by  name ; 

"Now,  Dasher!  now,  Dancer!  now,  Prancer  and  Vixen! 

On,  Comet !  on,  Cupid  !  on,  Donder  and  Blitzen  ! 
To  the  top  of  the  porch  !  to  the  top  of  the  wall ! 

Now  dash  away  !  dash  away  !  dash  away  all !" 
As  dry  leaves  that  before  the  wild  hurricane  fly, 

When  they  meet  with  an  obstacle,  mount  to  the  sky ; 

114 


So  up  to  the  housetop  the  coursers  they  flew, 
With  the  sleigh  full  of  toys,  and  St.  Nicholas,  too. 

And  then,  in  a  twinkling,  I  heard  on  the  roof 
The  prancing  and  pawing  of  each  little  hoof. 

As  I  drew  in  my  head,  and  was  turning  around, 

Down  the  chimney  St.  Nicholas  came  with  a  bound. 

He  was  dressed  all  in  fur,  from  his  head  to  his  foot, 

And  his  clothes  were  all  tarnished  with  ashes  and  soot ; 
A  bundle  of  toys  he  had  flung  on  his  back, 

And  he  looked  like  a  peddler  just  opening  his  pack. 
His  eyes  —  how  they  twinkled  !  his  dimples  how  merry  ! 

His  cheeks  were  like  roses,  his  nose  like  a  cherry  ! 
His  droll  little  mouth  was  drawn  up  like  a  bow, 

And  the  beard  of  his  chin  was  as  white  as  the  snow; 

The  stump  of  a  pipe  he  held  in  his  teeth, 

And  the  smoke  it  encircled  his  head  like  a  wreath; 

He  had  a  broad  face  and  a  little  round  belly, 

That  shook  when  he  laughed,  like  a  bowlful  of  jelly. 

He  was  chubby,  and  plump,  a  right  jolly  elf, 

And  I  laughed  when  I  saw  him,  in  spite  of  myself; 

A  wink  of  his  eye  and  a  twist  of  his  head, 

Soon  gave  me  to  know  I  had  nothing  to  dread. 

"5 


He  spoke  not  a  word,  but  went  straight  to  his  work, 

And  filled  all  the  stockings;  then  turned  with  a  jerk, 
And  laying  his  finger  aside  of  his  nose, 

And  giving  a  nod,  up  the  chimney  he  rose; 
And  sprang  to  his  sleigh,  to  his  team  gave  a  whistle, 

And  away  they  all  flew  like  the  down  of  a  thistle. 
But  I  heard  him  exclaim,  ere  he  drove  out  of  sight, 

"Happy  Christmas  to  all,  and  to  all  a  good-night." 

Clement  C.  Moore. 


AULD   DADDY   DARKNESS 

Auld  Daddy  Darkness  creeps  frae  his  hole, 
Black  as  a  blackamoor,  blin'  as  a  mole : 
Stir  the  fire  till  it  lowes,  let  the  bairnie  sit, 
Auld  Daddy  Darkness  is  no  wantit  yet. 

See  him  in  the  corners  hidin'  frae  the  licht, 
See  him  at  the  window  gloomin'  at  the  nicht; 
Turn  up  the  gas  licht,  close  the  shutters  a', 
An'  Auld  Daddy  Darkness  will  flee  far  awa'. 

Awa'  to  hide  the  birdie  within  its  cozy  nest, 
Awa'  to  lap  the  wee  flooers  on  their  mither's  breast, 

116 


Awa'  to  loosen  Gaffer  Toil  frae  his  daily  ca', 
For  Auld  Daddy  Darkness  is  kindly  to  a'. 

He  comes  when  we're  weary  to  wean  us  frae  oor  wars, 
He  comes  when  the  bairnies  are  getting  aff  their  claes ; 
To  cover  them  sae  cosy,  an'  bring  bonnie  dreams, 
So  Auld  Daddy  Darkness  is  better  than  he  seems. 

Steek  yer  een,  my  wee  tot,  ye'll  see  Daddy  then ; 
He's  in  below  the  bed  claes,  to  cuddle  ye  he's  fain ; 
Noo  nestle  in  his  bosie,  sleep  and  dream  yer  fill, 
Till  Wee  Davie  Daylicht  comes  keekin'  owre  the  hill. 

James  Ferguson. 


frae :  from 
blin' :    blind 
lowes :   glows 
bairnie :    child 
wantit  :    wanted 
licht :    light 
gloomin' :  frowning 
nicht :    nigh 
lap :    cover  up 
flooers :  flowers 
mither :    mother 


ca' :    work 
wean  :    draw 
waes :    woes 
claes :    clothes 
sae  :    so 
steek :    close 
een :    eyes 
fain  :    wishing 
bosie :    bosom 
keekin' :    peeping 


117 


A  LOBSTER   QUADRILLE 

"Will  you  walk  a  little  faster?" 

Said  a  whiting  to  a  snail, 
"There's  a  porpoise  close  behind  us, 

And  he's  treading  on  my  tail. 
See  how  eagerly  the  lobsters 

And  the  turtles  all  advance  ! 
They  are  waiting  on  the  shingle  — 

Will  you  come  and  join  the  dance  ? 
Will  you,  won't  you,  will  you,  won't  you, 

Will  you  join  the  dance  ? 
Will  you,  won't  you,  will  you,  won't  you, 

Won't  you  join  the  dance  ? 

"You  can  really  have  no  notion 

How  delightful  it  will  be 
When  they  take  us  up  and  throw  us, 

With  the  lobsters,  out  to  sea!" 
But  the  snail  replied,  "Too  far,  too  far!" 

And  gave  a  look  askance  — 
Said  he  thanked  the  whiting  kindly, 

But  he  would  not  join  the  dance. 
Would  not,  could  not,  would  not,  could  not, 

Could  not  join  the  dance. 
118 


Would  not,  could  not,  would  not,  could  not, 

Could  not  join  the  dance. 
"What  matters  it  how  far  we  go?" 

His  scaly  friend  replied, 
"  There  is  another  shore,  you  know, 

Upon  the  other  side. 
The  further  off  from  England 

The  nearer  is  to  France  — 
Then  turn  not  pale,  beloved  snail, 

But  come  and  join  the  dance. 
Will  you,  won't  you,  will  you,  won't  you, 

Will  you  join  the  dance  ? 
Will  you,  won't  you,  will  you,  won't  you, 

Won't  you  join  the  dance  ? 

Lewis  Carroll. 


•  -.^ 


119 


MY   SHADOW 

I  have  a  little  shadow  that  goes  in  and  out  with  me, 
And  what  can  be  the  use  of  him  is  more  than  I  can  see. 
He  is  very,  very  like  me  from  the  heels  up  to  the  head ; 
And  I  see  him  jump  before  me,  when  I  jump  into  my  bed. 

The  funniest  thing  about  him  is  the  way  he  likes  to  grow  — 
Not  at  all  like  proper  children,  which  is  always  very  slow ; 
For  he  sometimes  shoots  up  taller  like  an  India-rubber  ball, 
And  he  sometimes  gets  so  little  that  there's  none  of  him 
at  all. 

He  hasn't  got  a  notion  of  how  children  ought  to  play, 
And  can  only  make  a  fool  of  me  in  every  sort  of  way.' 
He  stays  so  close  beside  me,  he's  a  coward,  you  can  see ; 
I'd  think  shame  to  stick  to  nursie  as  that  shadow  sticks 
to  me  ! 

One  morning,  very  early,  before  the  sun  was  up, 

I  rose  and  found  the  shining  dew  on  every  buttercup ; 

But  my  lazy  little  shadow,  like  an  arrant  sleepy-head, 

Had  stayed  at  home  behind   me   and  was  fast   asleep  in 

bed. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 


WHO   STOLE   THE    BIRD'S   NEST? 

"To-whit,  to- whit,  to-whee  ! 
Will  you  listen  to  me  ? 
Who  stole  four  eggs  I  laid, 
And  the  nice  nest  I  made?" 

"Not  I,"  said  the  cow;    "moo-oo! 

Such  a  thing  I'd  never  do. 

I  gave  you  a  wisp  of  hay, 

But  didn't  take  your  nest  away. 

Not  I,"  said  the  cow;    "moo-oo! 

Such  a  thing  I'd  never  do!" 

"Bob-o'-link!  boW-link  ! 
Now,  what  do  you  think  ? 
Who  stole  a  nest  away 
From  the  plum  tree  to-day?" 

"Not  I,"  said  the  dog;  "bow-wow! 
I  wouldn't  be  so  mean  anyhow 
I  gave  hairs  the  nest  to  make, 
But  the  nest  I  did  not  take. 
Not  I,"  said  the  dog;    "bow-wow! 
I  wouldn't  be  so  mean  anyhow!" 

121 


"Coo-coo,  coo-coo,  coo-coo! 
Let  me  speak  a  word  or  two : 
Who  stole  that  pretty  nest 
From  little  yellow  breast?" 

"Not  I,"  said  the  sheep;    "oh,  no! 
I  wouldn't  treat  a  poor  bird  so. 
I  gave  wool  the  nest  to  line, 
But  the  nest  was  none  of  mine. 
Baa,  baa!"  said  the  sheep;    "oh,  no! 
I  wouldn't  treat  a  poor  bird  so!" 

"Caw,  caw!"  cried  the  crow; 
"I  should  like  to  know 
What  thief  took  away 
A  bird's  nest  to-day." 

"Cluck,  cluck!"  said  the  hen; 
"Don't  ask  me  again; 
Why,  I  haven't  a  chick 
Would  do  such  a  trick  ! 
We  each  gave  her  a  feather 
And  she  wove  them  together. 
I'd  scorn  to  intrude 
On  her  and  her  brood. 


Cluck,  cluck!"  said  the  hen; 
"Don't  ask  me  again." 

"  Chir-a-whir  !  chir-a-whir  ! 
We'll  make  a  great  stir, 
And  find  out  his  name, 
And  all  cry,  '  For  shame  ! ' ' 

"I  would  not  rob  a  bird," 
Said  little  Mary  Green ; 
"I  think  I  never  heard 
Of  anything  so  mean." 

"It  is  very  cruel  too," 

Said  little  Alice  Neal ; 

"I  wonder  if  he  knew 

How  sad  the  bird  would  feel!" 

A  little  boy  hung  down  his  head, 
And  went  and  hid  behind  the  bed; 
Eor  he  stole  that  pretty  nest, 
From  poor  little  yellow  breast; 
And  he  felt  so  full  of  shame, 
He  didn't  like  to  tell  his  name. 

Lydia  Maria  Child. 


123 


WISHING 

Ring-Ting  !  I  wish  I  were  a  primrose, 

A  bright  yellow  primrose  blooming  in  the  spring. 

The  stooping  boughs  above  me, 

The  wandering  bee  to  love  me, 
The  fern  and  moss  to  creep  across, 
And  the  elm  tree  for  our  king  ! 

Nay  — ■  stay  !     I  wish  I  were  an  elm  tree, 

A  great,  lofty  elm  tree  with  green  leaves  gay  ! 
The  winds  would  set  them  dancing, 
The  sun  and  moonshine  glance  in, 

The  birds  would  house  among  the  boughs, 

And  ever  sweetly  sing  ! 

Oh  — ■  no  !     I  wish  I  were  a  robin, 

A  robin  or  a  little  wren,  everywhere  to  go; 

Through  forest,  field,  or  garden, 

And  ask  no  leave  or  pardon, 
Till  winter  comes  with  icy  thumbs 
To  ruffle  up  our  wings  ! 

124 


Well  —  tell  !     Where  should  1  fly  to, 

Where  go  to  sleep  in  the  dark  wood  or  dell  ? 

Before  a  day  was  over, 

Home  comes  the  rover, 

For  mother's  kiss,  —  sweeter  this 

Than  any  other  thing. 

William  Allingham. 

THE  OWL 

When  cats  run  home  and  light  is  come, 

And  dew  is  cold  upon  the  ground, 
And  the  far-off  stream  is  dumb, 
And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round, 
And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round ; 
Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits, 
The  white  owl  in  the  belfry  sits. 

When  merry  milkmaids  click  the  latch, 
And  rarely  smells  the  new-mown  hay, 
And  the  cock  hath  sung  beneath  the  thatch 
Twice  or  thrice  his  roundelay, 
Twice  or  thrice  his  roundelay ; 
Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits, 
The  white  owl  in  the  belfry  sits. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 
125 


THE   LAMPLIGHTER 

My  tea  is  nearly  ready  and  the  sun  has  left  the  sky ; 

It's  time  to  take  the  window  to  see  Leerie  going  by ; 
For  every  night  at  teatime  and  before  you  take  your  seat, 

With  lantern  and  with  ladder  he  comes  posting  up  the 
street. 

Now  Tom  would  be  a  driver  and  Maria  go  to  sea, 
And  my  papa's  a  banker  and  as  rich  as  he  can  be ; 

But  I,  when  I  am  stronger  and  can  choose  what  I'm  to  do, 
O   Leerie,  I'll  go  round  at  night  and  light  the  lamps 
with  you  ! 

For  we  are  very  lucky,  with  a  lamp  before  the  door, 
And  Leerie  stops  to  light  it  as  he  lights  so  many  more ; 

And  O  !  before  you  hurry  by  with  ladder  and  with  light, 
0  Leerie,  see  a  little  child  and  nod  to  him  to-night ! 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 


126 


THE   ELF   AND   THE   DORMOUSE 

Under  a  toadstool 

Crept  a  wee  Elf, 
Out  of  the  rain, 

To  shelter  himself. 

Under  the  toadstool 

Sound  asleep, 
Sat  a  big  Dormouse 

All  in  a  heap. 

Trembled  the  wee  Elf, 
Frightened,  and  yet 

Fearing  to  fly  away 
Lest  he  get  wet. 

To  the  next  shelter  — 

Maybe  a  mile  ! 
Sudden  the  wee  Elf 

Smiled  a  wee  smile, 

Tugged  till  the  toadstool 

Toppled  in  two. 
Holding  it  over  him, 

Gayly  he  flew. 

127 


Soon  he  was  safe  home, 

Dry  as  could  be. 
Soon  woke  the  Dormouse  - 

"Good  gracious  me! 

"Where  is  my  toadstool?" 

Loud  he  lamented. 
—  And  that's  how  umbrellas 

First  were  invented. 

Oliver  Herford 

THE   SANDS   OF   DEE 

"0  Mary,  go  and  call  the  cattle  home, 
And  call  the  cattle  home, 
And  call  the  cattle  home, 
Across  the  sands  of  Dee!" 
The  western  wind  was  wild  and  dank  with  foam 
And  all  alone  went  she. 

The  western  tide  crept  up  along  the  sand, 

And  o'er  and  o'er  the  sand, 

And  round  and  round  the  sand, 
As  far  as  eye  could  see. 
The  rolling  mist  came  down  and  hid  the  land; 

And  never  home  came  she. 

128 


Oh  !  is  it  weed,  or  fish,  or  floating  hair,  - 
A  tress  of  golden  hair, 
A  drowned  maiden's  hair, 
Above  the  nets  at  sea  ? 
Was  never  salmon  yet  that  shone  so  fair 
Among  the  stakes  on  Dee. 

They  rowed  her  in  across  the  rolling  foam, 

The  cruel  crawling  foam, 

The  cruel  hungry  foam, 

To  her  grave  beside  the  sea. 

But  still  the  boatmen  hear  her  call  the  cattle  home 

Across  the  sands  of  Dee. 

Charles  Kingsley. 

NOVEMBER 

The  leaves  are  fading  and  falling, 
The  winds  are  rough  and  wild, 

The  birds  have  ceased  their  calling, 
But  let  me  tell  you,  my  child, 

Though  day  by  day,  as  it  closes, 
Doth  darker  and  colder  grow, 

The  roots  of  the  bright  red  roses 
Will  keep  alive  in  the  snow. 

BAKER    I  —  g  129 


And  when  the  winter  is  over, 

The  boughs  will  get  new  leaves, 

The  quail  come  back  to  the  clover, 

And  the  swallow  back  to  the  eaves. 

The  robin  will  wear  on  his  bosom 
A  vest  that  is  bright  and  new, 

And  the  loveliest  wayside  blossom 
Will  shine  with  the  sun  and  dew. 

The  leaves  to-day  are  whirling, 

The  brooks  are  all  dry  and  dumb, 

But  let  me  tell  you,  my  darling, 

The  spring  will  be  sure  to  come. 

There  must  be  rough,  cold  weather, 

And  winds  and  rains  so  wild ; 
Not  all  good  things  together 

Come  to  us  here,  my  child. 

So,  when  some  dear  joy  loses 

Its  beauteous  summer  glow, 

Think  how  the  roots  of  the  roses 

Are  kept  alive  in  the  snow. 

Alice  Cary. 

130 


JACK   FROST 

The  door  was  shut,  as  doors  should  be, 
Before  you  went  to  bed  last  night ; 

Yet  Jack  Frost  has  got  in,  you  see, 
And  left  your  window  silver  white. 

He  must  have  waited  till  you  slept ; 
And  not  a  single  word  he  spoke, 
'  But  pencilled  o'er  the  panes  and  crept 
Away  again  before  you  woke. 

And  now  you  cannot  see  the  trees 

Nor  fields  that  stretch  beyond  the  lane; 

But  there  are  fairer  things  than  these 
His  fingers  traced  on  every  pane. 

Rocks  and  castles  towering  high ; 

Hills  and  dales  and  streams  and  fields ; 
And  knights  in  armour  riding  by, 

With  nodding  plumes  and  shining  shields 

And  here  are  little  boats,  and  there 

Big  ships  with  sails  spread  to  the  breeze ; 

And  yonder,  palm-trees  waving  fair 
On  islands  set  in  silver  seas. 
131 


x\nd  butterflies  with  gauzy  wings ; 

And  herds  of  cows  and  flocks  of  sheep ; 
And  fruit  and  flowers  and  all  the  things 

You  see  when  you  are  sound  asleep. 

For,  creeping  softly  underneath 

The  door  when  all  the  lights  are  out, 

Jack  Frost  takes  every  breath  you  breathe 
And  knows  the  things  you  think  about. 

He  paints  them  on  the  window-pane 

In  fairy  lines  with  frozen  steam ; 
And  when  you  wake,  you  see  again 

The  lovely  things  you  saw  in  dream. 

Gabriel  Setoun. 

HOW   THE   FLOWERS   GROW 

This  is  how  the  flowers  grow : 

I  have  watched  them  and  I  know. 

First,  above  the  ground  is  seen 
A  tiny  blade  of  purest  green, 
Reaching  up  and  peeping  forth 
East  and  west,  and  south  and  north. 
132 


Then  it  shoots  up  clay  by  day, 
Circling  in  a  curious  way 
Round  a  blossom,  which  it  keeps 
Warm  and  cozy  while  it  sleeps. 

Then  the  sunbeams  find  their  way 
To  the  sleeping  bud  and  say, 
"We  are  children  of  the  sun 
Sent  to  wake  thee,  little  one." 

And  the  leaflet  opening  wide 
Shows  the  tiny  bud  inside, 
Peeping  with  half-opened  eye 
On  the  bright  and  sunny  sky. 

Breezes  from  the  west  and  south 
Lay  their  kisses  on  its  mouth ; 
Till  the  petals  all  are  grown, 
And  the  bud's  a  flower  blown. 

This  is  how  the  flowers  grow : 

I  have  watched  them  and  I  know. 

Gabriel  Setoun. 


133 


MARCH 

The  cock  is  crowing, 

The  stream  is  flowing, 

The  small  birds  twitter, 

The  lake  doth  glitter, 
The  green  field  sleeps  in  the  sun; 

The  oldest  and  youngest 

Are  at  work  with  the  strongest ; 

The  cattle  are  grazing, 

Their  heads  never  raising; 
There  are  forty  feeding  like  one. 

Like  an  army  defeated 

The  snow  hath  retreated, 

And  now  doth  fare  ill 

On  the  top  of  the  bare  hill; 
The  plowboy  is  whooping  —  anon  —  anon ; 

There's  joy  in  the  mountains, 

There's  life  in  the  fountains; 

Small  clouds  are  sailing, 

Blue  sky  prevailing ; 
The  rain  is  over  and  gone  ! 

William  Wordsworth. 


134 


MARGERY   BROWN 

"Margery  Brown  on  the  top  of  the  hill, 

Why  are  you  standing  idle  still?" 
"Oh,  I'm  looking  over  to  London  town; 

Shall  I  see  the  horsemen  if  I  go  down?" 

"Margery  Brown  on  the  top  of  the  hill, 
Why  are  you  standing,  listening  still?" 

"Oh,  I  hear  the  bells  of  London  ring, 

And  I  hear  the  men  and  the  maidens  sing." 

"Margery  Brown  on  the  top  of  the  hill, 
Why  are  you  standing,  waiting  still?" 

"Oh,  a  knight  is  there,  but  I  can't  go  down, 
For  the  bells  ring  strangely  in  London  town." 

Kate  Greenaway. 


i35 


THE   LITTLE   LAND 

When  at  home  alone  I  sit 

And  am  very  tired  of  it, 

I  have  just  to  shut  my  eyes 

To  go  sailing  through  the  skies  — 

To  go  sailing  far  away 

To  the  pleasant  Land  of  Play; 

To  the  fairy  land  afar 

Where  the  Little  People  are ; 

Where  the  clover  tops  are  trees, 

And  the  rain  pools  are  the  seas, 

And  the  leaves  like  little  ships 

Sail  about  on  tiny  trips ; 

And  above  the  daisy  tree 

Through  the  grasses, 
High  o'erhead  the  bumble  bee 

Hums  and  passes. 

In  the  forest  to  and  fro 
I  can  wander,  I  can  go ; 
See  the  spider  and  the  fly, 
And  the  ants  go  marching  by 
Carrying  parcels  with  their  feet 
Down  the  green  and  grassy  street. 
136 


I  can  in  the  sorrel  sit, 

Where  the  ladybird  alit. 

I  can  climb  the  jointed  grass ; 

And  on  high 
See  the  greater  swallows  pass 

In  the  sky, 
And  the  round  sun  rolling  by, 
Heeding  no  such  things  as  I. 

Through  that  forest  I  can  pass 
Till,  as  in  a  looking-glass, 
Humming  fly  and  daisy  tree, 
And  my  tiny  self  I  see, 
Painted  very  clear  and  neat 
On  the  rain  pool  at  my  feet. 
Should  a  leaflet  come  to  land 
Drifting  near  to  where  I  stand, 
Straight  I'll  board  that  tiny  boat, 
Round  the  rain-pool  sea  to  float. 

Little  thoughtful  creatures  sit 
On  the  grassy  coasts  of  it ; 

Little  things  with  lovely  eyes 
See  me  sailing  with  surprise. 
Some  are  clad  in  armor  green  — 
137 


(These  have  sure  to  battle  been  !)  — 
Some  are  pied  with  ev'ry  hue, 
Black  and  crimson,  gold  and  blue ; 
Some  have  wings  and  swift  are  gone :  — 
But  they  all  look  kindly  on. 

When  my  eyes  I  once  again 
Open,  and  see  all  things  plain, 
High  bare  walls,  great  bare  floor ; 
Great  big  knobs  on  drawer  and  door; 
Great  big  people  perched  on  chairs, 
Stitching  tucks  and  mending  tears, 
Each  a  hill  that  I  could  climb, 
And  talking  nonsense  all  the  time  — 

Oh,  dear  me ! 

That  I  could  be 
A  sailor  on  the  rain-pool  sea, 
A  climber  in  the  clover  tree, 
And  just  come  back,  a  sleepy-head, 
Late  at  night  to  go  to  bed ! 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 


138 


THE    FAIRY 

Oh,  who  is  so  merry 

As  the  light-hearted  fairy? 
He  dances  and  sings 
To  the  sound  of  his  wings, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  heigh,  and  a  ho  ! 

Oh,  who  is  so  merry 

As  the  light-hearted  fairy? 
His  nectar  he  sips 
From  the  primrose's  lips 

With  a  hey,  and  a  heigh,  and  a  ho  ! 

Oh,  who  is  so  merry 

As  the  light-hearted  fairy? 
His  night  is  the  noon, 
And  his  sun  is  the  moon, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  heigh,  and  a  ho  ! 


i39 


NONSENSE  RIME 

The  owl  and  the  eel  and  the  warming  pan, 

They  went  to  visit  the  soap-fat  man. 

The  soap-fat  man  he  was  not  within, 

He'd  gone  for  a  ride  on  his  rolling  pin. 

So  they  all  came  back  by  the  way  of  the  town, 

And  turned  the  meetinghouse  upside  down. 

Laura  E.  Richards. 

LITTLE   JACK   FROST 

Little  Jack  Frost  went  up  the  hill, 

Watching  the  stars  and  the  moon  so  still, 

Watching  the  stars  and  moon  so  bright, 
And  laughing  aloud  with  all  his  might. 

Little  Jack  Frost  ran  down  the  hill, 

Late  in  the  night  when  the  winds  were  still, 

Late  in  the  fall  when  the  leaves  fell  down, 
Red  and  yellow  and  faded  brown. 

Little  Jack  Frost  walked  through  the  trees, 

"Oh!"  sighed  the  flowers,  "we  freeze,  we  freeze." 

"Oh,"  sighed  the  grasses,  "we  die,  we  die." 
Said  little  Jack  Frost,  "Good-by,  good-by." 

140 


Little  Jack  Frost  went  round  and  round, 
Spreading  white  snow  on  the  frozen  ground, 

Nipping  the  breezes,  icing  the  streams, 

And  chilling  the  warmth  of  the  sun's  bright  beams. 

But  when  Dame  Nature  brought  back  the  spring, 
Brought  back  the  birds  to  chirp  and  sing, 

Melted  the  snow  and  warmed  the  sky, 
Then  Little  Jack  Frost  went  pouting  by. 

The  flowers  opened  their  eyes  of  blue, 
Green  buds  peeped  out  and  grasses  grew; 

It  was  so  warm  and  scorched  him  so, 
That  Little  Jack  Frost  was  glad  to  go. 


141 


THE   FAIRY   FOLK 

Come  cuddle  close  in  daddy's  coat 

Beside  the  fire  so  bright, 
And  hear  about  the  fairy  folk 

That  wander  in  the  night. 
For  when  the  stars  are  shining  clear 

And  all  the  world  is  still, 
They  float  across  the  silver  moon 

From  hill  to  cloudy  hill. 

Their  caps  of  red,  their  cloaks  of  green, 

Are  hung  with  silver  bells, 
And  when  they're  shaken  with  the  wind 

Their  merry  ringing  swells. 
And  riding  on  the  crimson  moth, 

With  black  spots  on  his  wings, 
They  guide  them  down  the  purple  sky 

With  golden  bridle  rings. 

They  love  to  visit  girls  and  boys, 
To  see  how  sweet  they  sleep, 

To  stand  beside  their  cosy  cots 
And  at  their  faces  peep. 


142 


For  in  the  whole  of  fairy  land 

They  have  no  finer  sight 
Than  little  children  sleeping  sound 

With  faces  rosy  bright. 

On  tiptoe  crowding  round  their  heads, 

When  bright  the  moonlight  beams, 
They  whisper  little  tender  words 

That  fill  their  minds  with  dreams; 
And  when  they  see  a  sunny  smile, 

With  lightest  finger  tips 
They  lay  a  hundred  kisses  sweet 

Upon  the  ruddy  lips. 

And  then  the  little  spotted  moths 

Spread  out  their  crimson  wings, 
And  bear  away  the  fairy  crowd 

With  shaking  bridle  rings. 
Come  bairnies,  hide  in  daddy's  coat, 

Beside  the  fire  so  bright  — 
Perhaps  the  little  fairy  folk 

Will  visit  you  to-night. 

Robert  Bird. 


143 


OH!   WHERE   DO   FAIRIES   HIDE? 

Oh  !  where  do  fairies  hide  their  heads 

When  snow  lies  on  the  hills, 
When  frost  has  spoiled  their  mossy  beds, 

And  crystallized  their  rills  ? 

Beneath  the  moon  they  cannot  trip 

In  circles  o'er  the  plain ; 
And  draughts  of  dew  they  cannot  sip, 

Till  green  leaves  come  again. 

Perhaps,  in  small,  blue  diving  bells, 
They  plunge  beneath  the  waves, 

Inhabiting  the  wreathed  shells 
That  lie  in  coral  caves. 

Perhaps  in  red  Vesuvius, 

Carousals  they  maintain ; 
And  cheer  their  little  spirits  thus, 

Till  green  leaves  come  again. 

When  they  return  there  will  be  mirth, 

And  music  in  the  air, 
And  fairy  wings  upon  the  earth, 

And  mischief  everywhere. 
144 


The  maids,  to  keep  the  elves  aloof, 

Will  bar  the  doors  in  vain  ; 
No  keyhole  will  be  fairy  proof, 

When  green  leaves  come  again. 

Thomas  Haynes  Bayly. 

GRASSHOPPER    GREEN 

Grasshopper  Green  is  a  comical  chap ; 

He  lives  on  the  best  of  fare, 
Bright  little  trousers,  jacket,  and  cap, 

These  are  his  summer  wear. 
Out  in  the  meadow  he  loves  to  go, 

Playing  away  in  the  sun ; 
It's  hopperty,  skipperty,  high  and  low, 

Summer's  the  time  for  fun. 

Grasshopper  Green  has  a  quaint  little  house ; 

It's  under  the  hedge  so  gay. 
Grandmother  Spider,  as  still  as  a  mouse, 

Watches  him  over  the  way. 
Gladly  he's  calling  the  children,  I  know, 

Out  in  the  beautiful  sun ; 
It's  hopperty,  skipperty,  high  and  low, 

Summer's  the  time  for  fun. 

BAKES    I IO  X45 


THE   LORD    IS   MY   SHEPHERD 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd ;  I  shall  not  want. 
He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures; 
He  leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters ; 

He  restoreth  my  soul. 
He   leadeth    me    in    the   paths   of    righteousness   for   His 

name's  sake. 
Yea,  though   I  walk   through    the  valley  of    the   shadow 

of  death, 
I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  Thou  art  with  me. 
Thy  rod  and  Thy  staff  they  comfort  me. 
Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the  presence  of  mine 

enemies ; 
Thou  anointest  my  head  with  oil ;  my  cup  runneth  over. 
Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days 

of  my  life, 
And  I  will  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  forever. 

XXIII  Psalm. 


146 


PART   THREE 


Little  drops  of  water,  little  grains  of  sand, 
Make  the  mighty  ocean,  and  the  pleasant  land. 

Thus  the  little  minutes,  humble  though  they  be, 
Make  the  mighty  ages  of  eternity. 

Ebenezer  Cobham  Brewer. 


148 


THE   FAIRIES   OF   THE   CALDON   LOW 

A    MIDSUMMER    LEGEND 

"And  where  have  you  been,  my  Mary, 
And  where  have  you  been  from  me?" 

"I've  been  to  the  top  of  the  Caldon  Low, 
The  midsummer  night  to  see." 

"And  what  did  you  see,  my  Mary, 
All  up  on  the  Caldon  Low?" 

"I  saw  the  glad  sunshine  come  down, 
And  I  saw  the  merry  winds  blow." 

"And  what  did  you  hear,  my  Mary, 

All  up  on  the  Caldon  hill?" 
"I  heard  the  drops  of  the  water  made, 

And  the  ears  of  the  green  corn  fill." 

"Oh,  tell  me  all,  my  Mary — 

All,  all  that  ever  you  know; 
For  you  must  have  seen  the  fairies, 

Last  night  on  the  Caldon  Low." 
149 


"Then  take  me  on  your  knee,  mother; 

And  listen,  mother  of  mine : 
A  hundred  fairies  danced  last  night, 

And  the  harpers  they  were  nine ; 

"And  their  harp  strings  rung  so  merrily 
To  their  dancing  feet  so  small ; 

But  oh,  the  words  of  their  talking 
Were  merrier  far  than  all !" 

"And  what  were  the  words,  my  Mary, 
That  then  you  heard  them  say?" 

"I'll  tell  you  all,  my  mother; 
But  let  me  have  my  way. 

"Some  of  them  played  with  the  water, 

And  rolled  it  down  the  hill; 
'And  this,'  they  said,  'shall  speedily  turn 

The  poor  old  miller's  mill ; 

"'For  there  has  been  no  water 

Ever  since  the  first  of  May ; 
And  a  busy  man  will  the  miller  be 

At  the  dawning  of  the  day. 


150 


"'Oh,  the  miller,  how  he  will  laugh 

When  he  sees  the  mill  dam  rise. 
The  jolly  old  miller,  how  he  will  laugh 

Till  the  tears  fill  both  his  eyes.' 

"And  some  they  seized  the  little  winds 

That  sounded  over  the  hill ; 
And  each  put  a  horn  unto  his  mouth, 

And  blew  both  loud  and  shrill ; 

"'And  there,'  they  said,  'the  merry  winds  go 

Away  from  every  horn ; 
And  they  shall  clear  the  mildew  dank 

From  the  blind  old  widow's  corn. 

"'Oh,  the  poor,  blind  widow, 

Though  she  has  been  blind  so  long, 

She'll  be  blithe  enough  when  the  mildew's  gone, 
And  the  corn  stands  tall  and  strong.' 

"And  some  they  brought  the  brown  lint  seed, 
And  flung  it  down  from  the  Low ; 

'And  this,'  they  said,  'by  the  sunrise, 
In  the  weaver's  croft  shall  grow. 


151 


"'Oh,  the  poor,  lame  weaver, 

How  will  he  laugh  outright 
When  he  sees  his  dwindling  flax  field 

All  full  of  flowers  by  night ! ' 

"And  then  out  spoke  a  brownie, 
With  a  long  beard  on  his  chin : 

'I  have  spun  up  all  the  tow,'  said  he, 
'  And  I  want  some  more  to  spin. 

'"I've  spun  a  piece  of  hempen  cloth, 
And  I  want  to  spin  another  — 

A  little  sheet  for  Mary's  bed, 
And  an  apron  for  her  mother.' 

"With  that  I  could  not  help  but  laugh, 
And  I  laughed  out  loud  and  free ; 

And  then  on  the  top  of  the  Caldon  Low 
There  was  no  one  left  but  me. 

"And  all  on  the  top  of  the  Caldon  Low 
The  mists  were  cold  and  gray, 

And  nothing  I  saw  but  the  mossy  stones 
That  round  about  me  lay. 


152 


"But,  coming  down  from  the  hilltop, 

I  heard  afar  below, 
How  busy  the  jolly  miller  was, 

And  how  the  wheel  did  go. 

"And  I  peeped  into  the  widow's  field, 

And,  sure  enough,  were  seen 
The  yellow  ears  of  the  mildewed  corn, 

All  standing  stout  and  green. 

"And  down  by  the  weaver's  croft  I  stole, 
To  see  if  the  flax  were  sprung; 

And  I  met  the  weaver  at  his  gate, 
With  the  good  news  on  his  tongue. 

"Now  this  is  all  I  heard,  mother, 

And  all  that  I  did  see; 
So,  prithee,  make  my  bed,  mother, 

For  I'm  tired  as  I  can  be  !" 


Mary  Howitt. 


--P'.i^k>?(,«^aA.-'*xW>*  , 


153 


TO   MOTHER   FAIRIE 

Good  old  mother  Fairie, 

Sitting  by  your  fire, 
Have  you  any  little  folk 

You  would  like  to  hire  ? 

I  want  no  chubby  drudges 
To  milk,  and  churn,  and  spin, 

Nor  old  and  wrinkled  Brownies, 
With  grizzly  beards,  and  thin ; 

But  patient  little  people, 

With  hands  of  busy  care, 
And  gentle  speech,  and  loving  hearts; 

Say,  have  you  such  to  spare  ? 

They  must  be  very  cunning 

To  make  the  future  shine 
Like  leaves,  and  flowers,  and  strawberries, 

A-growing  on  one  vine. 

Good  old  mother  Fairie, 

Since  my  need  you  know, 
Tell  me,  have  you  any  folk 

Wise  enough  to  go  ? 


Alice  Cary. 


i54 


THE  YARN  OF  THE  NANCY   BELL 

'Twas  on  the  shores  that  round  our  coast 

From  Deal  to  Ramsgate  span, 
That  I  found  alone  on  a  piece  of  stone 

An  elderly  naval  man. 

His  hair  was  weedy,  his  beard  was  long, 

And  weedy  and  long  was  he, 
And  I  heard  this  wight  on  the  shore  recite, 

In  a  singular  minor  key : 

"Oh!  I  am  a  cook  and  a  captain  bold, 

And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 
And  a  bo 'sun  tight,  and  a  midshipmite, 

And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig." 

And  he  shook  his  fists  and  he  tore  his  hair, 

Till  I  really  felt  afraid, 
For  I  couldn't  help  thinking  the  man  had  been  drinking, 

And  so  I  simply  said : 

"Oh,  elderly  man,  it's  little  I  know 

Of  the  duties  of  men  of  the  sea, 
And  I'll  eat  my  hand  if  I  understand 

How  you  can  possibly  be 

i55 


"At  once  a  cook,  and  a  captain  bold, 

And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 
And  a  bo'sun  tight,  and  a  midshipmite, 

And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig." 

Then  he  gave  a  hitch  to  his  trousers,  which 

Is  a  trick  all  seamen  learn, 
And  having  got  rid  of  a  thumping  quid, 

He  spun  this  painful  yarn : 

"'Twas  in  the  good  ship  Nancy  Bell 

That  we  sailed  to  the  Indian  Sea, 
And  there  on  a  reef  we  come  to  grief, 

Which  has  often  occurred  to  me. 

"And  pretty  nigh  all  the  crew  was  drowned 

(There  was  seventy-seven  in  all), 
And  only  ten  of  the  Nancy's  men 

Said  'Here!'  to  the  muster-roll. 

"There  was  me,  and  the  cook,  and  the  captain  bold, 

And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 
And  the  bo'sun  tight,  and  a  midshipmite, 

And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig. 

156 


"For  a  month  we'd  neither  wittles  nor  drink, 

Till  a-hungry  we  did  feel, 
So  we  draw'd  a  lot,  and,  accordin',  shot 

The  captain  for  our  meal. 

"The  next  lot  fell  to  the  Nancy's  mate, 

And  a  delicate  dish  he  made ; 
Then  our  appetite  with  the  midshipmite,- 

We  seven  survivors  stayed. 

"And  then  we  murdered  the  bo'sun  tight, 

And  he  much  resembled  pig ; 
Then  we  wittled  free,  did  the  cook  and  me, 

On  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig. 

"Then  only  the  cook  and  me  was  left, 

And  the  delicate  question,  'Which 
Of  us  two  goes  to  the  kettle?'  arose, 

And  we  argued  it  out  as  sich. 

"For  I  loved  that  cook  as  a  brother,  I  did, 

And  the  cook  he  worshiped  me ; 
But  we'd  both  be  blowed  if  we'd  either  be  stowed 

In  the  other  chap's  hold,  you  see. 

iS7 


"Til  be  eat  if  you  dines  off  me,'  says  Tom; 

'Yes,  that,'  says  I,  'you'll  be,'  — 
'I'm  boiled  if  I  die,  my  friend,'  quoth  I; 

And  'Exactly  so,'  quoth  he. 

"Says  he,  'Dear  James,  to  murder  me 

Were  a  foolish  thing  to  do, 
For  don't  you  see  that  you  can't  cook  me, 

While  I  can  —  and  will  —  cook  you  ! ' 

"So  he  boils  the  water,  and  takes  the  salt 

And  the  pepper  in  portions  true 
(Which  he  never  forgot),  and  some  chopped  shalot, 

And  some  sage  and  parsley  too. 

"'Come  here,'  says  he,  with  a  proper  pride, 

Which  his  smiling  features  tell, 
"Twill  soothing  be,  if  I  let  you  see 

How  extremely  nice  you'll  smell ! ' 

"And  he  stirred  it  round  and  round  and  round, 

And  he  sniffed  at  the  foaming  froth ; 
When  I  ups  with  his  heels,  and  smothers  his  squeals 

In  the  scum  of  the  boiling  broth. 


"And  I  eat  that  cook  in  a  week  or  less 

And  —  as  J  eating  be 
The  last  of  his  chops,  why,  I   almost   drops, 

For  a  vessel  in  sight  I  see. 

"And  I  never  larf,  and  I  never  smile, 

And  I  never  larf  or  play, 
But  sit  and  croak,  and  a  single  joke 

I  have  —  which  is  to  say  : 

"  Oh  !  I  am  a  cook  and  a  captain  bold, 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 

And  a  bo'sun  tight  and  a  midshipmite, 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig!" 

W.  S.  Gilbert. 

FULL  FATHOM  FIVE  THY  FATHER  LIES 

Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies : 

Of  his  bones  are  coral  made ; 
Those  are  pearls,  that  were  his  eyes : 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 

Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
Sea  nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell : 

Hark  !  now  I  hear  them  —  ding,  dong,  bell. 

William  Shakespeare. 
iS9 


UNDER    MY    WINDOW 

Under  my  window,  under  my  window, 

All  in  the  midsummer  weather, 
Three  little  girls  with  fluttering  curls 

Flit  to  and  fro  together :  — 
There's  Bell  with  her  bonnet  of  satin  sheen, 

And  Maude  with  her  mantle  of  silver-green, 
And  Kate  with  her  scarlet  feather. 

Under  my  window,  under  my  window, 

Leaning  stealthily  over, 
Merry  and  clear,  the  voice  I  hear, 

Of  each  glad-hearted  rover. 
Oh  !  sly  little  Kate,  she  steals  my  roses ; 

And  Maude  and  Bell  twine  wreaths  and  posies, 
As  merry  as  bees  in  clover. 

Under  my  window,  under  my  window, 

In  the  blue  midsummer  weather, 
Stealing  slow,  on  a  hushed  tiptoe, 

I  catch  them  all  together :  — 
Bell  with  her  bonnet  of  satin  sheen, 

And  Maude  with  her  mantle  of  silver-green, 
And  Kate  with  her  scarlet  feather. 

1 60 


Under  my  window,  under  my  window, 
And  off  through  the  orchard  closes ; 

While  Maude  she  flouts  and  Bell  she  pouts, 
They  scamper  and  drop  their  posies ; 

But  dear  little  Kate  takes  naught  amiss, 

And  leaps  in  my  arms  with  a  loving  kiss, 

And  I  give  her  all  my  roses. 

Thomas  Westwood. 

HIAWATHA'S   CHILDHOOD 

By  the  shores  of  Gitche  Gumee, 
By  the  shining  Big-Sea-Water, 
Stood  the  wigwam  of  Nokomis, 
Daughter  of  the  Moon,  Nokomis. 
Dark  behind  it  rose  the  forest, 
Rose  the  black  and  gloomy  pine  trees, 
Rose  the  firs  with  cones  upon  them ; 
Bright  before  it  beat  the  water, 
Beat  the  clear  and  sunny  water, 
Beat  the  shining  Big-Sea-Water. 

There  the  wrinkled  old  Nokomis 
Nursed  the  little  Hiawatha, 
Rocked  him  in  his  linden  cradle, 

BAKER    I  —  II  l6l 


Bedded  soft  in  moss  and  rushes, 
Safely  bound  with  reindeer  sinews ; 
Stilled  his  fretful  wail  by  saying, 
"Hush!  the  Naked  Bear  will  hear  thee!" 
Lulled  him  into  slumber,  singing, 
"Ewa-yea!  my  little  owlet! 
Who  is  this  that  lights  the  wigwam  ? 
With  his  great  eyes  lights  the  wigwam  ? 
Ewa-yea!  my  little  owlet!" 

Many  things  Nokomis  taught  him 
Of  the  stars  that  shine  in  heaven ; 
Showed  him  Ishkoodah,  the  comet, 
Ishkoodah,  with  fiery  tresses ; 
Showed  the  Death  Dance  of  the  spirits, 
Warriors  with  their  plumes  and  war  clubs, 
Flaring  far  away  to  northward 
In  the  frosty  nights  of  Winter ; 
Showed  the  broad  white  road  in  heaven, 
Pathway  of  the  ghosts,  the  shadows, 
Running  straight  across  the  heavens 
Crowded  with  the  ghosts,  the  shadows. 

At  the  door  on  summer  evenings 
Sat  the  little  Hiawatha, 
162 


Heard  the  whispering  of  the  pine  trees, 
Heard  the  lapping  of  the  waters, 
Sounds  of  music,  words  of  wonder ; 
"  Minne-wawa  ! "  said  the  pine  trees. 
"  Mudway-aushka  ! "  said  the  water. 
Saw  the  firefly,  Wah-wah-taysee, 
Flitting  through  the  dusk  of  evening, 
With  the  twinkle  of  its  candle 
Lighting  up  the  brakes  and  bushes, 
And  he  sang  the  song  of  children, 
Sang  the  song  Nokomis  taught  him : 
"  Wah-wah-taysee,  little  firefly, 
Little,  flitting,  white-fire  insect, 
Little,  dancing,  white-fire  creature, 
Light  me  with  your  little  candle, 
Ere  upon  my  bed  I  lay  me, 
Ere  in  sleep  I  close  my  eyelids!" 

Saw  the  moon  rise  from  the  water, 
Rippling,  rounding  from  the  water, 

Saw  the  flecks  and  shadows  on  it, 
Whispered,  "What  is  that,  Nokomis?" 
And  the  good  Nokomis  answered : 
"Once  a  warrior,  very  angry, 
163 


Seized  his  grandmother,  and  threw  her 
Up  into  the  sky  at  midnight; 
Right  against  the  moon  he  threw  her : 
'Tis  her  body  that  you  see  there." 
Saw  the  rainbow  in  the  heaven, 
In  the  eastern  sky,  the  rainbow, 
Whispered,  "What  is  that,  Nokomis?" 
And  the  good  Nokomis  answered : 
"'Tis  the  heaven  of  flowers  you  see  there; 
All  the  wild  flowers  of  the  forest, 
All  the  lilies  of  the  prairie, 
When  on  earth  they  fade  and  perish, 
Blossom  in  that  heaven  above  us." 

When  he  heard  the  owls  at  midnight, 
Hooting,  laughing  in  the  forest, 
"What  is  that?"  he  cried  in  terror, 
"What  is  that,"  he  said,  "Nokomis?" 
And  the  good  Nokomis  answered : 
"That  is  but  the  owl  and  owlet, 
Talking  in  their  native  language, 
Talking,  scolding  at  each  other." 

Then  the  little  Hiawatha 
Learned  of  every  bird  its  language, 
164 


Learned  their  names  and  all  their  secrets. 
How  they  built  their  nests  in   Summer, 
Where  they  hid  themselves  in  Winter, 
Talked  with  them  whene'er  he  met  them. 
Called  them  "Hiawatha's  Chickens." 

Of  all  beasts  he  learned  the  language, 
Learned  their  names  and  all  their  secrets, 
How  the  beavers  built  their  lodges, 
Where  the  squirrels  hid  their  acorns, 
How  the  reindeer  ran  so  swiftly, 
Why  the  rabbit  was  so  timid, 
Talked  with  them  whene'er  he  met  them, 
Called  them  "Hiawatha's  Brothers." 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


THE   FROST 

The  Frost  looked  forth  one  still,  clear  night, 
And  whispered,  "Now  I  shall  be  out  of  sight; 
So,  through  the  valley,  and  over  the  height. 

In  silence  I'll  take  my  way. 
I  will  not  go  on  like  that  blustering  train, 
The  wind  and  the  snow,  the  hail  and  the  rain, 

165 


That  make  so  much  bustle  and  noise  in  vain, 
But  I'll  be  as  busy  as  they!" 

So  he  flew  to  the  mountain,  and  powdered  its  crest; 
He  lit  on  the  trees,  and  their  boughs  he  dressed 
In  diamond  beads  —  and  over  the  breast 

Of  the  quivering  lake,  he  spread 
A  coat  of  mail,  that  it  need  not  fear 
The  downward  point  of  many  a  spear 
That  he  hung  on  its  margin,  far  and  near, 

Where  a  rock  could  rear  its  head. 

He  went  to  the  windows  of  those  who  slept, 
And  over  each  pane,  like  a  fairy,  crept; 
Wherever  he  breathed,  wherever  he  stepped, 

By  the  light  of  the  morn  were  seen 
Most  beautiful  things;    there  were  flowers  and  trees; 
There  were  bevies  of  birds  and  swarms  of  bees; 
There  were  cities  with  temples  and  towers;    and  these 

All  pictured  in  silver  sheen  ! 

But  he  did  one  thing  that  was  hardly  fair, 
He  peeped  in  the  cupboard,  and  finding  there 

1 66 


That  all  had  forgotten  for  him  to  prepare, 
"Now,  just  to  set  them  a-thinking, 

I'll  bite  this  basket  of  fruit,"  said  he ; 

"This  costly  pitcher  I'll  burst  in  three; 

And  the  glass  of  water  they've  left  for  me 

Shall  'tchick!'  to  tell  them  I'm  drinking!" 

Hannah  F.  Gould. 


WHAT  THE   CHIMNEY   SANG 

Over  the  chimney  the  night  wind  sang 

And  chanted  a  melody  no  one  knew ; 
And  the  Woman  stopped,  as  her  babe  she  tossed, 

And  thought  of  the  one  she  had  long  since  lost, 
And  said,  as  her  teardrops  back  she  forced, 

"I  hate  the  wind  in  the  chimney." 

Over  the  chimney  the  night  wind  sang 

And  chanted  a  melody  no  one  knew; 
And  the  Children  said,  as  they  closer  drew, 

"  'Tis  some  witch  that  is  cleaving  the  black  night  through, 
'Tis  a  fairy  trumpet  that  just  then  blew, 

And  we  fear  the  wind  in  the  chimney." 

167 


Over  the  chimney  the  night  wind  sang 
And  chanted  a  melody  no  one  knew ; 

And  the  Man,  as  he  sat  on  his  hearth  below 
Said  to  himself,  "  It  will  surely  snow, 

And  fuel  is  dear  and  wages  low, 

And  I'll  stop  the  leak  in  the  chimney." 

Over  the  chimney  the  night  wind  sang 
And  chanted  a  melody  no  one  knew; 

But  the  Poet  listened  and  smiled,  for  he 
Was  Man  and  Woman  and  Child,  all  three 

And  said,  "It  is  God's  own  harmony, 
This  wind  we  hear  in  the  chimney." 

Bret  Harte. 


THE   NEW   YEAR 

Who  comes  dancing  over  the  snow, 

His  soft  little  feet  all  bare  and  rosy  ? 
Open  the  door,  though  the  wild  winds  blow 
Take  the  child  in  and  make  him  cosy. 
Take  him  in  and  hold  him  dear, 
He  is  the  wonderful  glad  New  Year. 

Dinah  M.  Cr\ik. 
168 


HARK!   HARK!  THE  LARK 

Hark  !  hark !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chaliced  flowers  that  lies  ; 

And  winking  Mary-buds  begin  to  ope  their  golden  eyes ; 

With  everything  that  pretty  is,  my  lady  sweet,  arise; 

Arise,  arise. 

William  Shakespeare. 

AFTER   BLENHEIM 

It  was  a  summer's  evening, 

Old  Kaspar's  work  was  done, 

And  he  before  his  cottage  door 
Was  sitting  in  the  sun ; 

And  by  him  sported  on  the  green 

His  little  grandchild  Wilhelmine. 
169 


She  saw  her  brother  Peterkin 

Roll  something  large  and  round, 

Which  he,  beside  the  rivulet, 

In  playing  there,  had  found. 

He  came  to  ask  what  he  had  found, 

That  was  so  large,  and  smooth,  and  round. 

Old  Kaspar  took  it  from  the  boy, 

Who  stood  expectant  by ; 
And  then  the  old  man  shook  his  head, 

And,  with  a  natural  sigh, 
"'Tis  some  poor  fellow's  skull,"  said  he, 
"Who  fell  in  the  great  victory!" 

"I  find  them  in  the  garden, 

For  there's  many  here  about; 

And  often  when  I  go  to  plow, 

The  plowshare  turns  them  out ; 

For  many  thousand  men,"  said  he, 

"Were  slain  in  that  great  victory!" 

"Now  tell  us  what  'twas  all  about," 

Young  Peterkin,  he  cries; 
And  little  Wilhelmine  looks  up 

With  wonder- waiting  eyes; 
170 


"Now  tell  us  all  about  the  war, 

And  what  they  fought  each  other  for." 

"It  was  the  English,"   Kaspar  cried, 
"Who  put  the  French  to  rout; 

But  what  they  fought  each  other  for 
I  could  not  well  make  out. 

But  everybody  said,"  quoth  he, 

"That  'twas  a  famous  victory! 

"My  father  lived  at  Blenheim  then, 
Yon  little  stream  hard  by : 

They  burned  his  dwelling  to  the  ground, 
And  he  was  forced  to  fly ; 

So  with  his  wife  and  child  he  fled, 

Nor  had  he  where  to  rest  his  head. 

"With  fire  and  sword  the  country  round 
Was  wasted  far  and  wide ; 

And  many  a  childing  mother  then 
And  new-born  baby  died. 

But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 

At  every  famous  victory. 

"They  say  it  was  a  shocking  sight 

After  the  field  was  won; 
171 


For  many  thousand  bodies  here 

Lay  rotting  in  the  sun. 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
After  a  famous  victory. 

"Great  praise  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  won, 

And  our  good  Prince  Eugene." 
"Why,  'twas  a  very  wicked  thing!" 

Said  little  Wilhelmine. 
"Nay,  nay,  my  little  girl,"  quoth  he, 
"It  was  a  famous  victory! 

"And  everybody  praised  the  Duke 

Who  this  great  fight  did  win." 
"But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last?" 

Quoth  little  Peterkin. 
"Why,  that  I  cannot  tell,"  said  he, 
"But  'twas  a  famous  victory." 

Robert  Southey. 


~^t'*^KS 


172 


THE   MERMAID 

'Twas  Friday  morn  when  we  set  sail, 
And  we  were  not  far  from  the  land, 

When  the  captain  spied  a  lovely  mermaid 
With  a  comb  and  glass  in  her  hand. 

Oh,  the  ocean  waves  may  roll, 

And  the  stormy  winds  may  blow, 
While  we  poor  sailors  go  skipping  to  the  top, 

And  the  landlubbers  lie  down  below. 

Then  up  spake  the  captain  of  our  gallant  ship, 

And  a  well-spoken  man  was  he ; 
"I  have  married  a  wife  in  Salem  Town, 

But  to-night  she  a  widow  will  be." 

Then  up  spake  the  cook  of  our  gallant  ship 

And  a  fat  old  cook  was  he ; 
"I  care  much  more  for  my  kettles  and  my  pots 

Than  I  do  for  the  depths  of  the  sea." 

Then  three  times  around  went  our  gallant  ship, 
And  three  times  around  went  she; 

Then  three  times  around  went  our  gallant  ship, 
And  she  sank  to  the  depths  of  the  sea. 

i73 


A   DREAM   LESSON 

Once  there  was  a  little  boy  that  wouldn't  go  to  bed, 
When  they  hinted  at   the  subject,   he  would  only  shake 

his  head, 
When   they   asked  him  his  intentions,  he  informed  them 

pretty  straight 
That  he  wouldn't  go  to  bed  at  all,  and  Nursey  needn't  wait. 

As  their  arguments  grew  stronger,  and  their  attitude  more 

strict, 
I  grieve  to  say  that  naughty  boy  just  yelled  and  screamed 

and  kicked. 
And  he  made  up  awful  faces,  and  he  told  them  up  and 

down 
That  he  wouldn't  go  to  bed  for  all  the  nurses  in  the  town. 

Then  Nursey  lost  her  patience,  and  although  it  wasn't  right, 
Retorted  that  for  all  she  cared  he  might  sit  up  all  night. 
He  approved  of  this   arrangement,  and  he   danced  a  jig 

for  joy, 
And  turned  a  somersault  with  glee ;  he  was  a  naughty  boy. 

And  so  they  all  went  off  to  bed  and  left  him  sitting  there, 
Right  in  the  corner  by  the  hre  in  Grandpa's  big  armchair. 

i74 


He    read    his    books    and    played    his    games,       he    even 

sang  a  song, 
And  thought  how  lovely  it  would  be  to  sit  up  all  night  long. 

But  soon  his  games  grew  stupid,  and  his  puzzles  wouldn't 

work ; 
He  drew  himself  up  stiffly  with  a  sudden  little  jerk, 
And  he  said,  "I  am  not  sleepy,  and  I  love  to  play  alone  - 
And  —  I  —  think-    '  the  rest  was  mumbled  in  a  drowsy 

monotone. 

He  leaned  back  on  the  cushions  like  that  night  he  had  the 

croup ; 
His  head  began  to  wobble  and  his  eyes  began  to  droop; 
He  closed  them  for  a  minute,  just  to  see  how  it  would  seem, 
And  straightway  he  was  sound  asleep,  and  dreamed  this 

awful  dream  ! 

He  thought  he  saw  a  garden  filled  with  flowers  and  roses 

gay, 

A  great  big  gardener  with  a  hoe  came  walking  down  his 

way; 
"Ah,  ah  !"  exclaimed  the  gardener,  as  he  clutched  him  by 

the  head, 
"Here's  a  fine  specimen  I've  found;    I'll  plant  him  in  this 

bed!" 

i75 


He   held    the   boy   in    one   big   hand,   unheeding  how  he 

cried, 
And    with    the   other   dug   a   hole   enormous,    deep,    and 
]  wide. 

He  jammed  the  little  fellow  in,  and  said  in  gruffest  tone, 
"This   is   the   bed    for   naughty    boys   who   won't   go   to 

their  own." 

And  then  the  dirt  was  shoveled  in,  —  it  covered  up  his 

toes, 
His  ankles,  knees,  and  waist,  and  arms,  and  higher  yet 

it  rose. 
For  still  the  gardener  shoveled  on,  not  noticing  his  cries ; 
It  came  up  to  his  chin  and  mouth  —  it  almost  reached 

his  eyes; 

Just    then    he    gathered    all    his    strength    and    gave    an 

awful  scream, 
And  woke  himself,  and  put  an  end  to  that  terrific  dream. 
And  he   said   as   Nursey   tucked  him  up   and  bade   him 

snugly  rest, 
"When  I  am  planted  in  a  bed,  I  like  my  own  the  best." 

Carolyn  Wells. 
176 


THE   WIND   AND   THE   MOON 

Said  the  Wind  to  the  Moon,  "I  will  blow  you  out; 

You  stare  in  the  air 

Like  a  ghost  in  a  chair, 
Always  looking  what  I  am  about  — 
I  hate  to  be  watched;    I'll  blow  you  out." 

The  Wind  blew  hard,  and  out  went  the  Moon. 

So,  deep  on  a  heap 

Of  clouds  to  sleep, 
Down  lay  the  Wind,  and  slumbered  soon, 
Muttering  low,  "I've  done  for  that  Moon." 

He  turned  in  his  bed ;    she  was  there  again  ! 

On  high  in  the  sky, 

With  her  one  ghost  eye, 
The  Moon  shone  white  and  alive  and  plain. 
Said  the  Wind,  "I  will  blow  you  out  again." 

The  Wind  blew  hard,  and  the  Moon  grew  dim. 

"With  my  sledge  and  my  wedge, 

I  have  knocked  off  her  edge  ! 
If  only  1  blow  right  fierce  and  grim, 
The  creature  will  soon  be  dimmer  than  dim." 

BAKER    I  —  12  177 


He  blew  and  he  blew,  and  she  thinned  to  a  thread. 

"One  pull  more's  enough 

To  blow  her  to  snuff  ! 
One  good  puff  more  where  the  last  was  bred, 
And  glimmer,  glimmer,  glum  will  go  the  thread." 

He  blew  a  great  blast,  and  the  thread  was  gone. 

In  the  air,  nowhere 

Was  a  moonbeam  bare ; 
Far  off  and  harmless  the  shy  stars  shone  — 
Sure  and  certain  the  Moon  was  gone  ! 

The  Wind  he  took  to  his  revels  once  more; 

On  down,  in  town, 

Like  a  merry-mad  clown, 
He  leaped  and  halloed  with  whistle  and  roar  — 
"What's  that?"     The  glimmering  thread  once  more! 

He  flew  in  a  rage  — ■  he  danced  and  blew ; 

But  in  vain  was  the  pain 

Of  his  bursting  brain ; 
For  still  the  broader  the  Moon-scrap  grew, 
The  broader  he  swelled  his  big  cheeks  and  blew 

178 


Slowly  she  grew  —  till  she  filled  the  night, 

And  shone  on  her  throne 

In  the  sky  alone, 
A  matchless,  wonderful  silvery  light, 
Radiant  and  lovely,  the  queen  of  the  night. 

Said  the  Wind:    "What  a  marvel  of  power  am  I! 

With  my  breath,   good  faith  ! 

I  blew  her  to  death  — ■ 
First  blew  her  away  right  out  of  the  sky  — 
Then  blew  her  in;    what  strength  have  I!" 

But  the  Moon  she  knew  nothing  about  the  affair; 

For  high  in  the  sky, 

With  her  one  white  eye, 
Motionless,  miles  above  the  air, 
She  had  never  heard  the  great  Wind  blare. 

George  Macdonald. 


LITTLE   ORPHANT   ANNIE 

Little  Orphant  Annie's  come  to  our  house  to  stay, 

An'  wash  the  cups  and  saucers  up,  an'  brush  the  crumbs 

away, 
An'  shoo  the  chickens  off  the  porch,  an'  dust  the  hearth, 

an'  sweep, 
An'   make   the   fire,    an'    bake    the    bread,    an'   earn    her, 

board-an'-keep ; 
An'    all    us    other    childern,    when    the    supper   things   is 

done, 
We  set  around  the  kitchen  fire  an'  has  the  mostest  fun 
A-list'nin'  to  the  witch  tales  'at  Annie  tells  about, 
An'  the  Gobble-uns  'at  gits  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 
Watch 
Out! 

Onc't  they  was  a  little  boy  wouldn't  say  his  pray'rs  — 

An'  when  he  went  to  bed  at  night,  away  upstairs, 

His  mammy  heerd  him   holler,  an'  his  daddy  heerd  him 

bawl, 
An'    when    they    turn't    the    kivvers    down,    he    wasn't 

there  at  all ! 

1 80 


An'    they    seeked    him    in    the    rafter    room,    an'    cubby- 
hole,  an'  press, 
An'  seeked  him  up  the  chimbly  Hue,  an'  ever'wheres,  1  guess  ; 
But  all  they  ever  found  was  thist  his  pants  an1  round  about! 
]An'  the  Gobble-uns  '11  git  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 
Watch 
Out! 

An'  one  time  a  little  girl  'ud  alius  laugh  an'  grin, 
An'  make  fun  of  ever'  one,  an'  all  her  blood-an'-kin ; 
An'    onc't    when    they    was    "company,"    an'    ole    folks 

was  there, 
She  mocked  'em  an'  shocked  'em  an'  said  she  didn't  care  ! 
An'  thist  as  she  kicked  her  heels,  an'  turn't  to  run  an'  hide, 
They  was  two  great  big  Black  Things  a-standin'  by  her  side, 
An'  they  snatched  her  through  the  ceilin'  'fore  she  knowed 

what  she's  about  J 
An'  the  Gobble-uns  '11  git  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 
Watch 
Out! 
181 


An'  little  Orphant  Annie  says,  when  the  blaze  is  blue, 
An'  the  lampwick  sputters,  an'  the  wind  goes  woo-oo  ! 
An'  you  hear  the  crickets  quit,  an'  the  moon  is  gray, 
An'  the  lightnin'-bugs  in  dew  is  all  squenched  away,  — 
You  better  mind  yer  parents,  an'  yer  teachers  fond  an' 

dear, 
An'    churish  them   'at  loves  you,   an'   dry  the   orphant's 

tear, 
An'  he'p  the  pore  an'  needy  ones  'at  clusters  all  about, 
Er  the  Gobble-uns  '11  git  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 
Watch 
Out! 

James  Whitcomb  Riley. 

From  "Afterwhiles,"  by  James  Whitcomb  Riley.  Copyright,  1898. 
Used  by  special  permission  of  the  publishers,  The  Bobbs-Merrill 
Company. 


182 


THE   MILLER    OF   THE    DEE 

There  dwelt  a  miller  hale  and  bold 

Beside  the  river  Dee ; 
He  worked  and  sang  from  morn  till  night, 

No  lark  more  blithe  than  he. 

And  this  the  burden  of  his  song 

Forever  used  to  be,  — 
"I  envy  nobody,  no,  not  I, 

And  nobody  envies  me!" 

"Thou'rt  wrong,  my  friend,"  said  old  King  Hal, 
"Thou'rt  wrong  as  wrong  can  be; 

For  could  my  heart  be  light  as  thine, 
I'd  gladly  change  with  thee. 

And  tell  me  now,  what  makes  thee  sing 

With  voice  so  loud  and  free, 
While  I  am  sad,  though  I  am  king, 

Beside  the  river  Dee?" 
183 


The  miller  smiled,  and  doffed  his  cap. 

"I  earn  my  bread,"  quoth  he, 
"I  love  my  wife,  I  love  my  friend, 

I  love  my  children  three ; 

I  owe  no  penny  I  cannot  pay; 

I  thank  the  river  Dee, 
That  turns  the  mill  and  grinds  the  corn 

To  feed  my  babes  and  me." 

"Good  friend,"  said  Hal,  and  sighed  the  while, 

"Farewell,  and  happy  be; 
But  say  no  more,  if  thou'dst  be  true, 

That  no  man  envies  thee : 

Thy  mealy  cap  is  worth  my  crown, 

Thy  mill  my  kingdom's  fee ; 

Such  men  as  thou  are  England's  boast, 

O  miller  of  the  Dee!" 

Charles  Mackay. 


THE   QUANGLE   WANGLE'S   HAT 


^ 


On  the  top  of  the  Crumpetty  Tree 

The  Quangle  Wangle  sat, 
But  his  face  you  could  not  see, 

On  account  of  his  Beaver  Hat. 
For  his  Hat  was  a  hundred  and  two  feet  wide, 
With  ribbons  and  bibbons  on  every  side, 
And  bells,  and  buttons,  and  loops,  and  lace, 
So  that  nobody  ever  could  see  the  face 
Of  the  Quangle  Wangle  Quee. 


II 

The  Quangle  Wangle  said 

To  himself  on  the  Crumpetty  Tree, 
"Jam,  and  jelly,  and  bread 

Are  the  best  of  food  for  me  ! 
185 


But  the  longer  I  live  on  this  Crumpetty  Tree 
The  plainer  than  ever  it  seems  to  me 
That  very  few  people  come  this  way 
And  that  life  on  the  whole  is  far  from  gay!" 
Said  the  Quangle  Wangle  Quee. 

Ill 

But  there  came  to  the  Crumpetty  Tree 

Mr.  and  Mrs.   Canary; 
And  they  said,  "Did  ever  you  see 

Any  spot  so  charmingly  airy? 
May  we  build  a  nest  on  your  lovely  Hat? 
Mr.  Quangle  Wangle,  grant  us  that ! 
Oh,  please  let  us  come  and  build  a  nest 
Of  whatever  material  suits  you  best, 
Mr.  Quangle  Wangle  Quee!" 

IV 

And  besides,  to  the  Crumpetty  Tree 

Came  the  Stork,  the  Duck,  and  the  Owl ; 

The  Snail  and  the  Bumble-Bee, 

The  Frog,  and  the  Fimble  Fowl ; 

(The  Fimble  Fowl,  with  a  corkscrew  leg) ; 

And  all  of  them  said,  "We  humbly  beg 

We  may  build  our  homes  on  your  lovely  Hat,  — 

1 86 


Mr.  Quangle  Wangle,  grant  us  that  !  * 
Mr.  Quangle  Wangle  Quee!" 

V 

And  the  Golden  Grouse  came  there, 

And  the  Pobble  who  has  no  toes, 
And  the  small  Olympian  bear, 

And  the  Dong  with  a  luminous  nose. 
And  the  Blue  Baboon  who  played  the  flute, 
And  the  Orient  Calf  from  the  Land  of  Tute, 
And  the  Attery  Squash,  and  the  Bisky  Bat,  — 
All  came  and  built  on  the  lovely  Hat 
Of  the  Quangle  Wangle  Quee. 

VI 

And  the  Quangle  Wangle  said 

To  himself  on  the  Crumpetty  Tree, 
"When  all  these  creatures  move 

What  a  wonderful  noise  there'll  be!" 
And  at  night  by  the  light  of  the  Mulberry  moon 
They  danced  to  the  Flute  of  the  Blue  Baboon, 
On  the  broad  green  leaves  of  the  Crumpetty  Tree, 
And  all  were  as  happy  as  happy  could  be, 
With  the  Quangle  Wangle  Quee. 

Edward  Lear. 
187 


THE   VILLAGE   BLACKSMITH 

Under  a  spreading  chestnut  tree 

The  village  smithy  stands; 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands; 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 

Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long, 

His  face  is  like  the  tan ; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat, 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can, 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night, 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow ; 

You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge, 
With  measured  beat  and  slow, 

Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village  bell, 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 


And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door ; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge, 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chaff  from  a  threshing  floor. 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church, 

And  sits  among  his  boys; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach, 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice, 
Singing  in  the  village  choir, 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice, 

Singing  in  Paradise  ! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more, 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies ; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 

Toiling,  —  rejoicing,  —  sorrowing, 
Onward  through  life  he  goes ; 

Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 
Each  evening  sees  it  close ; 
189 


Something  attempted,  something  done, 
Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend, 
For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught ! 

Thus  at  the  naming  forge  of  life 
Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought ; 

Thus  on  its  sounding  anvil  shaped 
Each  burning  deed  and  thought. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


BUMBLE-BEE    AND    CLOVER 

Came  a  roaring  bumble-bee, 
Pockets  full  of  money. 
"  Ah,  good  morning,  Clover  sweet, 
What's  the  price  of  honey  ?  " 

"  Help  yourself,  sir,"  Clover  said, 
"  Bumble,  you're  too  funny ; 
Never  Clover  yet  so  poor 
She  must  sell  her  honey." 


19c 


LITTLE   BILLEE 

There  were  three  sailors  of  Bristol  city 
Who  took  a  boat  and  went  to  sea. 

But  first  with  beef  and  captain's  biscuits 
And  pickled  pork  they  loaded  she. 

There  was  gorging  Jack  and  guzzling  Jimmy, 
And  the  youngest  he  was  little  Billee, 

Now  when  they  got  so  far  as  the  Equator 
They'd  nothing  left  but  one  split  pea. 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 

"I  am  extremely  hungaree." 
To  gorging  Jack  says  guzzling  Jimmy, 

"We've  nothing  left,  us  must  eat  we." 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 
"With  one  another,  we  should  agree  ! 

There's  little  Bill,  he's  young  and  tender, 
We're  old  and  tough,  so  let's  eat  he." 
191 


"Oh!  Billy,  we're  going  to  kill  and  eat  you, 
So  undo  the  button  of  your  chemie." 

When  Bill  received  this  information 
He  used  his  pocket-handkerchie. 

"First  let  me  say  my  catechism, 

Which  my  poor  mammy  taught  to  me." 

"Make  haste,  make  haste,"  says  guzzling  Jimmy, 
While  Jack  pulled  out  his  snickersnee. 

So  Billy  went  up  to  the  main-top  gallant  mast 
And  down  he  fell  on  his  bended  knee. 

He  scarce  had  come  to  the  twelfth  commandment 
When  up  he  jumps,  "There's  land  I  see: 

"Jerusalem  and  Madagascar, 

And  North  and  South  Amerikee : 
There's  the  British  flag  a-riding  at  anchor, 

With  Admiral  Napier,  K.  C.  B." 

So  when  they  got  aboard  of  the  Admiral's 
He  hanged  fat  Jack  and  flogged  Jimmee ; 
But  as  for  little  Bill,  he  made  him 
The  captain  of  a  Seventy-Three. 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray 
192 


THE   WRECK   OF   THE   HESPERUS 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 

That  sailed  the  wintry  sea ; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter, 

To  bear  him  company. 

Blue  were  her  eyes,  as  the  fairy-flax, 
Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 

And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds 
That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm, 

His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth  ; 
And  he  watched  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blow 

The  smoke  now  west,  now  south. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  sailor, 

Had  sailed  the  Spanish  Main: 
"I  pray  thee,  put  into  yonder  port, 

For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 

"Last  night,  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring, 

And  to-night  no  moon  we  see!" 
The  skipper,  he  blew  a  whiff  from  his  pipe, 

And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he. 

BAKER    I  —  13  I93 


Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  Northeast ; 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength ; 
She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frighted  steed, 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 

"  Come  hither  !  come  hither  !  my  little  daughter, 

And  do  not  tremble  so ; 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale, 

That  ever  wind  did  blow." 

He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat, 

Against  the  stinging  blast ; 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar, 

And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

aO  father!  I  hear  the  church-bells  ring, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be?" 
'"Tis  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast!"  — 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

194 


"O  father!  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns.     \ 

Oh,  say,  what  may  it  be?" 
"Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

In  such  an  angry  sea!" 

"O  father!  I  see  a  gleaming  light, 

Oh,  say,  what  may  it  be?" 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word, 

A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 

Lashed  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark, 

With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies ; 
The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  gleaming  snow 

On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

Then  the  maiden  clasped  her  hands,  and  prayed 

That  saved  she  might  be ; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the  waves, 

On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear, 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 

Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 
Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

i95 


And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between 

A  sound  came  from  the  land ; 
It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf, 

On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows, 

She  drifted  a  weary  wreck, 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew 

Like  icicles  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side, 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice, 
With  the  masts,  went  by  the  board; 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank, 
Ho  !  ho  !  the  breakers  roared  ! 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 


196 


The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast, 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes ; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed, 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 

In  the  midnight  and  the  snow  ! 
Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this, 

On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe  ! 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

BONNIE   GEORGE   CAMPBELL 

High  upon  Highlands  and  low  upon  Tay, 
Bonnie  George  Campbell  rode  out  on  a  day. 
Saddled  and  bridled,  and  gallant  rode  he; 
Home  came  his  good  horse,  but  never  came  he. 
Out  came  his  old  mother,  weeping  full  sore, 
And  out  came  his  bonnie  bride,  tearing  her  hair. 
Saddled  and  bridled  and  booted  rode  he ; 
A  plume  in  his  helmet,  a  sword  at  his  knee. 
"My  meadow  lies  green  and  my  corn  is  unshorn, 
My  barn  is  to  build,  and  my  babe  is  unborn." 
Empty  home  came  his  saddle,  all  bloody  to  see, 
And  home  came  his  good  horse,  but  never  came  he. 

197 


LITTLE   DANDELION 

Gay  little  Dandelion 

Lights  up  the  meads, 
Swings  on  her  slender  foot, 

Telleth  her  beads, 
Lists  to  the  robin's  note 

Poured  from  above : 
Wise  little  Dandelion 

Asks  not  for  love. 

Cold  lie  the  daisy  banks 

Clothed  but  in  green, 
Where,  in  the  days  agone, 

Bright  hues  were  seen. 
Wild  pinks  are  slumbering; 

Violets  delay : 
True  little  Dandelion 

Greeteth  the  May. 

Brave  little  Dandelion  ! 

Fast  falls  the  snow, 
Bending  the  daffodil's 

Haughty  head  low. 


Under  that  fleecy  tent,    v 

Careless  of  cold, 
Blithe  little  Dandelion 

Counteth  her  gold. 

Meek  little  Dandelion 
Groweth  more  fair, 

Till  dies  the  amber  dew- 
Out  from  her  hair. 

High  tides  the  thirsty  sun, 
Fiercely  and  high : 

Faint  little  Dandelion 
Closeth  her  eye. 

Pale  little  Dandelion, 

In  her  white  shroud, 
Heareth  the  angel  breeze 

Call  from  the  cloud  ! 
Tiny  plumes  fluttering 

Make  no  delay  ! 
Little  winged  Dandelion 

Soareth  away. 


Helen  B.  Bostwick. 


199 


LUCY   GRAY 

Oft  I  had  heard  of  Lucy  Gray : 
And,  when  I  crossed  the  wild, 

I  chanced  to  see,  at  break  of  day, 
The  solitary  child. 

No  mate,  no  comrade  Lucy  knew : 
She  dwelt  on  a  wide  moor,  — 

The  sweetest  thing  that  ever  grew 
Beside  a  human  door  ! 

You  yet  may  spy  the  fawn  at  play, 

The  hare  upon  the  green ; 
But  the  sweet  face  of  Lucy  Gray 

Will  never  more  be  seen. 

"  To-night  will  be  a  stormy  night  — 
You  to  the  town  must  go ; 

And  take  a  lantern,  Child,  to  light 
Your  mother  through  the  snow." 

"That,  Father,  will  I  gladly  do: 

'Tis  scarcely  afternoon  — 
The  minster-clock  has  just  struck  two, 

And  yonder  is  the  moon!" 
200 


At  this  the  Father  raised  his  hook, 

And  snapped  a  faggot  band ; 
He  plied  his  work;  —  and  Lucy  took 

The  lantern  in  her  hand. 

Not  blither  is  the  mountain  roe ; 

With  many  a  wanton  stroke 
Her  feet  disperse  the  powdery  snow, 

That  riseth  up  like  smoke. 

The  storm  came  on  before  its  time : 

She  wandered  up  and  down ; 
And  many  a  hill  did  Lucy  climb : 

But  never  reached  the  town. 

The  wretched  parents  all  that  night 
Went  shouting  far  and  wide ; 

But  there  was  neither  sound  nor  sight 
To  serve  them  for  a  guide. 

At  daybreak  on  a  hill  they  stood 

That  overlooked  the  moor : 
And  thence  they  saw  the  bridge  of  wood 

A  furlong  from  their  door. 
201 


They  wept  —  and,  turning  homeward,  cried, 
"In  heaven  we  all  shall  meet"; 

When  in  the  snow  the  mother  spied 
The  print  of  Lucy's  feet. 

Half  breathless  from  the  steep  hill's  edge 
They  tracked  the  footmarks  small ; 

And  through  the  broken  hawthorn  hedge, 
And  by  the  long  stone  wall. 

And  then  an  open  field  they  crossed; 

The  marks  were  still  the  same ; 
They  tracked  them  on,  nor  ever  lost ; 

And  to  the  bridge  they  came. 

They  followed  from  the  snowy  bank 

Those  footmarks,  one  by  one, 
Into  the  middle  of  the  plank ; 

And  farther  there  were  none  !  — 

Yet  some  maintain  that  to  this  day 

She  is  a  living  child : 
That  you  may  see  sweet  Lucy  Gray 

Upon  the  lonesome  wild. 
202 


O'er  rough  and  smooth  she  trips  along, 

And  never  looks  behind; 
And  sings  a  solitary  song 

That  whistles  in  the  wind. 

William  Wordsworth. 

HUNTING   SONG 

Up,  up  !  ye  dames  and  lasses  gay  ! 
To  the  meadows  trip  away. 
'Tis  you  must  tend  the  flocks  this  morn, 
And  scare  the  small  birds  from  the  corn. 
Not  a  soul  at  home  may  stay : 
For  the  shepherds  must  go 
With  lance  and  bow 
To  hunt  the  wolf  in  the  woods  to-day. 

Leave  the  hearth  and  leave  the  house 
To  the  cricket  and  the  mouse : 
Find  grannam  out  a  sunny  seat, 
With  babe  and  lambkin  at  her  feet. 
Not  a  soul  at  home  may  stay : 
For  the  shepherds  must  go 
With  lance  and  bow 
To  hunt  the  wolf  in  the  woods  to-day. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 
203 


CUDDLE   DOON 


The  bairnies  cuddle  doon  at  nicht, 

Wi'  muckle  faucht  an'  din ; 
"  Oh,  try  an'  sleep,  ye  waukrife  rogues, 

Your  father's  comin'  in." 
They  never  heed  a  word  I  speak ; 

I  try  to  gi'e  a  froon, 
But  aye  I  hap  them  up,  an'  cry, 

"0  bairnies,  cuddle  doon!" 
Wee  Jamie  wi'  the  curly  heid  — 

He  aye  sleeps  neist  the  wa', 
Bangs  up  an'  cries,  "I  want  a  piece"; 

The  rascal  starts  them  a'. 
I  rin  an'  fetch  them  pieces,  drinks, 

They  stop  awee  the  soun' ; 
204 


Then  draw  the  blankets  up  and  cry, 
"Noo,  weanies,  cuddle  doon." 

But  ere  live  minutes  gang,  wee  Rab 

Cries  oot  frae  'neath  the  claes, 
"Mither,  mak'  Tarn  gie  ower  at  ance  — 

He's  kittlin'  wi'  his  taes." 
The  mischief's  in  that  Tarn  for  tricks, 

He'd  bother  half  the  toon : 
But  aye  I  hap  them  up  an'  cry. 

"O  bairnies,  cuddle  doon!" 

At  length  they  hear  their  father's  fit, 

An',  as  he  steeks  the  door, 
They  turn  their  faces  to  the  wa', 

While  Tarn  pretends  to  snore. 
"Hae  a'  the  weans  been  gude?"  he  asks, 

As  he  pits  aff  his  shoon ; 
"The  bairnies,  John,  are  in  their  beds, 

An'  lang  since  cuddled  doon." 

An'  just  afore  we  bed  oorsel's, 

We  look  at  oor  wee  lambs ; 
Tarn  has  his  airm  roun'  wee  Rab's  neck, 

An'  Rab  his  airm  roun5  Tarn's. 
205 


I  lift  wee  Jamie  up  the  bed, 

An',  as  I  straik  each  croon, 
I  whisper,  till  my  heart  fills  up, 

"  O  bairnies,  cuddle  doon  !  " 

The  bairnies  cuddle  doon  at  nicht, 

Wi'  mirth  that's  dear  to  me ; 
But  sune  the  big  warl's  cark  an'  care 

Will  quaten  doon  their  glee. 
Yet  come  what  will  to  ilka  ane, 

May  He  who  sits  aboon 
Aye  whisper,  though  their  pows  be  bauld, 

"O  bairnies,  cuddle  doon  !  " 

Alexander  Anderson. 


faucht :    scuffling 

kittlin' :    tickling 

waukrife :    wakeful 

taes :    toes 

gi'e  :    give 

fit:  foot 

froon  :  frown 

steeks :    shuts 

hap :    cover 

straik :    stroke 

neist :    next 

warl's :    world's 

piece :    something  to 

eat 

quaten :    quiet 

a  wee  :    a  little 

ilka  ane :    every  one 

claes :    clothes 

pows :    heads 
206 

aboon :    above 

WE    ARK    SEYKN 

I  met  a  little  cottage  girl, 

She  was  eight  years  old,  she  said ; 

Her  hair  was  thick  with  many  a  curl 
That  clustered  round  her  head. 

She  had  a  rustic,  woodland  air, 

And  she  was  wildly  clad; 
Her  eyes  were  fair,  and  very  fair ; 

—  Her  beauty  made  me  glad. 

"Sisters  and  brothers,  little  Maid, 

How  many  may  you  be?" 
"How  many?     Seven  in  all,"  she  said, 

And  wondering  looked  at  me. 

"And  where  are  they?  I  pray  you  tell." 
She  answered,  "  Seven  are  we ; 

And  two  of  us  at  Conway  dwell, 
And  two  are  gone  to  sea. 

"Two  of  us  in  the  church-yard  lie, 

My  sister  and  my  brother ; 
And,  in  the  church-yard  cottage,  I 

Dwell  near  them  with  my  mother." 
207 


"You  say  that  two  at  Conway  dwell, 

And  two  are  gone  to  sea, 
Yet  ye  are  seven  !     I  pray  you  tell, 

Sweet  Maid,  how  this  may  be." 

Then  did  the  little  Maid  reply, 

"Seven  boys  and  girls  are  we; 
Two  of  us  in  the  church-yard  lie, 

Beneath  the  church-yard  tree." 

"You  run  about,  my  little  maid, 

Your  limbs  they  are  alive ; 
If  two  are  in  the  church-yard  laid, 
Then  ye  are  only  five." 

"Their  graves  are  green,  they  may  be  seen," 

The  little  Maid  replied, 
"Twelve  steps  or  more  from  my  mother's  door, 

And  they  are  side  by  side. 

"My  stockings  there  I  often  knit, 

My  kerchief  there  I  hem ; 
And  there  upon  the  ground  I  sit, 

And  sing  a  song  to  them. 


208 


"And  often  after  sunset,  sir, 

When  it  is  light  and  fair, 
I  take  my  little  porringer 

And  eat  my  supper  there. 

"The  first  that  died  was  sister  Jane; 

In  bed  she  moaning  lay, 
Till  God  released  her  of  her  pain ; 

And  then  she  went  away. 

"So  in  the  church-yard  she  was  laid, 

And,  when  the  grass  was  dry, 
Together  round  her  grave  we  played, 

My  brother  John  and  I. 

"And  when  the  ground  was  white  with  snow 

And  I  could  run  and  slide, 
My  brother  John  was  forced  to  go, 

And  he  lies  by  her  side." 

"How  many  are  you,  then,"  said  I, 

"If  they  two  are  in  heaven?" 
Quick  was  the  little  Maid's  reply, 

"Oh,  Master,  we  are  seven." 

BAKER    I  —  14  20Q 


"But  they  are  dead;    those  two  are  dead! 

Their  spirits  are  in  heaven!" 
'Twas  throwing  words  away ;    for  still 

The  little  Maid  would  have  her  will, 
And  said,  "Nay,  we  are  seven!" 

William  Wordsworth. 


FATHER   WILLIAM 

"You  are  old,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said, 
"And  your  hair  has  become  very  white; 

And  yet  you  incessantly  stand  on  your  head  — 
Do  you  think,  at  your  age,  it  is  right?" 

"In  my  youth,"  Father  William  replied  to  his  son, 

"I  feared  it  might  injure  the  brain; 
But  now  that  I'm  perfectly  sure  I  have  none, 

Why,  I  do  it  again  and  again." 

"You  are  old,"  said  the  youth,  "as  I  mentioned  before, 

And  have  grown  most  uncommonly  fat; 
Yet  you  turned  a  back-somersault  in  at  the  door  — 

Pray,  what  is  the  reason  of  that?" 

2IO 


"In  my  youth,"  said  the  sage,  as  he  shook  his  gray  locks, 

"I  kept  all  my  limbs  very  supple 
By  the  use  of  this  ointment  —  one  shilling  the  box  - 

Allow  me  to  sell  you  a  couple?" 

"You  are  old,"  said  the  youth,  "and  your  jaws  are  too  weak 

For  anything  tougher  than  suet ; 
Yet  you  finished  the  goose,  with  the  bones  and  the  beak : 

Pray,  how  did  you  manage  to  do  it?" 

"In  my  youth,"  said  his  father,  "I  took  to  the  law, 

And  argued  each  case  with  my  wife ; 
And  the  muscular  strength  which  it  gave  to  my  jaw 

Has  lasted  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"You  are  old,"  said  the  youth,  "one  would  hardly  suppose 

That  your  eye  was  as  steady  as  ever ; 
Yet  you  balanced  an  eel  on  the  end  of  your  nose  — 

What  made  you  so  awfully  clever  ?  " 

"I  have  answered  three  questions,  and  that  is  enough," 
Said  his  father;    "don't  give  yourself  airs! 

Do  you  think  I  can  listen  all  day  to  such  stuff? 
Be  off,  or  I'll  kick  you  down-stairs!" 

Lewis  Carroll. 

211 


MY   LITTLE   NEIGHBOR 

My  little  neighbor's  table's  set, 
And  slyly  he  comes  down  the  tree, 

His  feet  firm  in  each  tiny  fret 
The  bark  has  fashioned  cunningly. 

He  pauses  on  a  favorite  knot ; 

Beneath  the  oak  his  feast  is  spread; 
He  asks  no  friend  to  share  his  lot, 

Or  dine  with  him  on  acorn  bread. 

He  keeps  his  whiskers  trim  and  neat, 
His  tail  with  care  he  brushes  through; 

He  runs  about  on  all  four  feet  — ■ 
When  dining,  he  sits  up  on  two. 

He  has  the  latest  stripe  in  furs, 

And  wears  them  all  the  year  around; 

He  does  not  mind  the  prick  of  burs 
When  there  are  chestnuts  to  be  found. 

I  watch  his  home  and  guard  his  store, 

A  cozy  hollow  in  a  tree ; 
He  often  sits  within  his  door, 

And  chatters  wondrous  things  to  me. 

Mary  Augusta  Mason. 

212 


BETH-GELERT 

The  spearmen  heard  the  bugle  sound, 
And  cheerily  smiled  the  morn, 

And  many  a  brach  and  many  a  hound 
Obey'd  Llewelyn's  horn. 

And  still  he  blew  a  louder  blast, 

And  gave  a  lustier  cheer: 
"  Come,  Gelert,  come,  wert  never  last 

Llewelyn's  horn  to  hear. 

"  Oh !    where  does  faithful  Gelert  roam, 

The  flow'r  of  all  his  race  ? 
So  true,  so  brave ;    a  lamb  at  home, 

A  lion  in  the  chase  !" 

'Twas  only  at  Llewelyn's  board 

The  faithful  Gelert  fed; 
He  watch'd,  he  serv'd,  he  cheer'd  his  lord 

And  sentinell'd  his  bed. 

In  sooth  he  was  a  peerless  hound, 

The  gift  of  royal  John ; 
But  now  no  Gelert  could  be  found, 

And  all  the  chase  rode  on. 
213 


And  now,  as  o'er  the  rocks  and  dells 

The  gallant  chidings  rise, 
All  Snowdon's  craggy  chaos  yells 

The  many-mingled  cries  ! 

That  day  Llewelyn  little  loved 

The  chase  of  hart  or  hare, 
And  scant  and  small  the  booty  proved, 

For  Gelert  was  not  there. 

Unpleased,  Llewelyn  homeward  hied  : 

When,  near  the  portal  seat, 
His  truant  Gelert  he  espied 

Bounding  his  lord  to  greet. 

But,  when  he  gained  his  castle  door, 

Aghast  the  chieftain  stood  : 
The  hound  all  o'er  was  smear'd  with  gore, 

His  lips,  his  fangs,  ran  blood. 

Llewelyn  gazed  with  fierce  surprise  : 

Unused  such  looks  to  meet, 
His  fav'rite  check'd  his  joyful  guise, 

And  crouch'd  and  lick'd  his  feet. 

214 


Onward  in  haste  Llewelyn  pass'd, 

And  on  went  Gelert  too, 
And  still,  where'er  his  eyes  he  cast, 

Fresh  blood-gouts  shock'd  his  view. 

O'erturn'd  his  infant's  bed  he  found, 

With  blood-stain'd  covert  rent ; 
And  all  around,  the  walls  and  ground 

With  recent  blood  besprent. 

He  call'd  his  child,  no  voice  replied; 

He  searched  with  terror  wild ; 
Blood,  blood  he  found  on  ev'ry  side ; 

But  nowhere  found  his  child. 

"  Hell-hound  !   my  child  by  thee's  devour'd  ! " 

The  frantic  father  cried ; 
And  to  the  hilt  his  vengeful  sword 

He  plunged  in  Gelert's  side. 

His  suppliant  looks  as  prone  he  fell, 

No  pity  could  impart ; 
But  still  his  Gelert's  dying  yell 

Pass'd  heavy  o'er  his  heart. 

215 


Aroused  by  Gelert's  dying  yell 
Some  slumb'rer  waken'd  nigh : 

What  words  the  parent's  joy  could  tell 
To  hear  his  infant's  cry ! 

Conceal'd  beneath  a  tumbled  heap 
His  hurried  search  had  miss'd, 

All  glowing  from  his  rosy  sleep, 
The  cherub  boy  he  kiss'd. 

Nor  scath  had  he,  nor  harm,  nor  dread 
But  the  same  couch  beneath 

Lay  a  gaunt  wolf,  all  torn  and  dead, 
Tremendous  still  in  death. 

Ah,  what  was  then  Llewelyn's  pain ! 

For  now  the  truth  was  clear ; 
His  gallant  hound  the  wolf  had  slain. 

To  save  Llewelyn's  heir. 

Vain,  vain  was  all  Llewelyn's  woe : 

"  Best  of  thy  kind,  adieu ! 
The  frantic  blow,  which  laid  thee  low, 

This  heart  shall  ever  rue." 
216 


And  now  a  gallant  tomb  they  rais'e, 

With  costly  sculpture  decked ; 
And  marbles,  storied  with  his  praise, 

Poor  Gelert's  bones  protect. 

There  never  could  the  spearman  pass, 

Or  forester,  unmoved; 
There  oft  the  tear-besprinkled  grass 

Llewelyn's  sorrow  proved. 

And  there  he  hung  his  sword  and  spear, 

And  there  as  evening  fell, 
In  Fancy's  ear  he  oft  would  hear 

Poor  Gelert's  dying  yell. 

And  till  great  Snowdon's  rocks  grow  old, 

And  cease  the  storm  to  brave, 
The  consecrated  spot  shall  hold 

The  name  of  "Gelert's  Grave." 

William  Robert  Spencer. 


217 


I   WILL   LIFT   UP    MINE    EYES 

I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills  from  whence  comet  h 

my  help. 
My  help  cometh  from  the  Lord  which  made  Heaven  and 

earth. 
He  will  not  suffer  thy  foot  to  be  moved. 
He  that  keepeth  thee  will  not  slumber. 
Behold  he  that  keepeth  Israel  shall  neither  slumber  nor 

sleep. 
The  Lord  is  thy  keeper. 

The  Lord  is  thy  shade  upon  thy  right  hand. 
The  sun  shall  not  smite  thee  by  day,  nor  the  moon  by 

night. 
The  Lord  shall  preserve  thee  from  all  evil. 
He  shall  preserve  thy  soul. 

The  Lord  shall  preserve  thy  going  out  and  thy  coming  in, 
From  this  time  forth,  and  even  for  evermore. 

CXXI  Psalm. 


218 


INDEX   OF   FIRST   LINES 


PAGE 


A  birdie  with  a  yellow  bill 19 

A  black-nosed  kitten  will  slumber  all  the  day, 27 

A  capital  ship  for  an  ocean  trip, 103 

A  farmer  went  riding  upon  his  gray  mare, 20 

A  frog  he  would  a-wooing  go, 30 

A  little  fairy  comes  at  night ; 55 

All  things  bright  and  beautiful, 36 

"And  where  have  you  been,  my  Mary, 149 

At  evening  when  I  go  to  bed, 81 

Auld  Daddy  Darkness  creeps  frae  his  hole, 116 

Bobby  Shafto's  gone  to  sea, 23 

By  the  shores  of  Gitche  Gumee, 161 

Came. a  roaring  bumble-bee, 190 

Come  cuddle  close  in  daddy's  coat, 142 

Dark  brown  is  the  river, 52 

Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies  : 159 

Gay  little  Dandelion 198 

Girls  and  boys,  come  out  to  play, 19 

Good-night !     Good-night ! 7° 

Good  old  mother  Fairie, i54 

Grasshopper  Green  is  a  comical  chap  ; 145 

219 


PAGE 


Great,  wide,  beautiful,  wonderful  World, 72 

Hark  !  hark  !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 169 

He  comes  in  the  night !   he  comes  in  the  night ! 112 

He  was  a  rat,  and  she  was  a  rat, 44 

High  upon  Highlands  and  low  upon  Tay, 197 

Hush  !  the  waves  are  rolling  in, 74 

If  no  one  ever  marries  me, 102 

If  the  butterfly  courted  the  bee, 83 

I  have  a  little  shadow  that  goes  in  and  out  with  me,    .     .     .     .  120 

I  know  a  funny  little  man, 99 

I  know  the  song  that  the  bluebird  is  singing 85 

I  like  little  pussy,  her  coat  is  so  warm  ! 51 

I  met  a  little  cottage  girl, 207 

In  winter  I  get  up  at  night 41 

I  once  had  a  sweet  little  doll,  dears 81 

" I,"  said  the  duck,  "  I  call  it  fun, 56 

I  saw  a  ship  a-sailing, 25 

I  saw  a  ship  a-saiiing, 92 

I  saw  you  toss  the  kites  on  high, 61 

It  was  a  summer's  evening, 169 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 193 

I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills 218 

Ladybird  !  Ladybird  !  fly  away  home ; 94 

"Lady  Moon,  Lady  Moon,  where  are  you  roving?        .     .     .     .  90 

Little  drops  of  water,  little  grains  of  sand, 148 

220 


Little  Gustava  sits  in  the  sun \ 64 

Little  Indian,  Sioux  or  Crow, 80 

Little  Jack  Frost  went  up  the  hill, 140 

Little  Orphant  Annie's  come  to  our  house  to  stay, 180 

Margery  Brown  on  the  top  of  the  hill 135 

Monday's  child  is  fair  of  face, 23 

My  little  neighbor's  table's  set, 212 

My  tea  is  nearly  ready  and  the  s\in  has  left  the  sky  ;    .     .     .     .  126 

Now  the  day  is  over, 75 

Of  speckled  eggs  the  birdie  sings, 35 

Oft  I  had  heard  of  Lucy  Gray  ; 200 

Oh,  look  at  the  moon, 35 

Oh  !  where  do  fairies  hide  their  heads 144 

Oh,  who  is  so  merry 139 

Old  Dame  Cricket,  down  in  a  thicket, 69 

O  Mary,  go  and  call  the  cattle  home, 128 

Once  there  was  a  little  boy  that  wouldn't  go  to  bed,    .     .     .     .  174 

Once  there  was  a  little  Kitty, 40 

On  the  top  of  the  Crumpetty  Tree 185 

Over  in  the  meadow, 45 

Over  the  chimney  the  night  wind  sang 167 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood, 89 

Prince  Finikin  and  his  mamma 53 

Pussycat,  pussycat  with  a  white  foot, 24 

Ring- ting  !  I  wish  I  were  a  primrose, 124 

221 


PAGE 


Rock-a-by,  hush-a-by,  little  papoose, 86 

Said  the  Wind  to  the  Moon,  "I  will  blow  you  out ;       .     .     .     .  177 

Sing  a  song  of  sixpence, 22 

Skeeters  am  a  hummin' on  de  honeysuckle  vine, 57 

Some  hae  meat  and  canna  eat, 74 

Storm  upon  the  mountain, 109 

Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low 87 

Thank  you,  pretty  cow,  that  made 38 

The  bairnies  cuddle  doon  at  nicht, 204 

The  city  mouse  lives  in  a  house ; 7° 

The  coach  is  at  the  door  at  last ; 73 

The  cock  is  crowing, 134 

The  door  was  shut,  as  doors  should  be, 13 l 

The  finest,  biggest  fish,  you  see, 34 

The  Fox  set  out  in  a  hungry  plight, 33 

The  friendly  cow  all  red  and  white, 39 

The  Frost  looked  forth  one  still,  clear  night, 165 

The  leaves  are  fading  and  falling, 129 

The  lion  and  the  unicorn 2° 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd  ;  I  shall  not  want 146 

The  Man  in  the  Moon  as  he  sails  the  sky 82 

The  moon  has  a  face  like  the  clock  in  the  hall ; in 

The  owl  and  the  eel  and  the  warming  pan, 14° 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussycat  went  to  sea 5° 

The  rain  is  raining  all  around,        32 

222 


There  dwelt  a  miller  hale  and  bold \ [83 

There's  no  dew  left  on  the  daisies  and  clover, 91 

There  was  an  old  man  who  said,  "  How 39 

There  was  an  old  woman,  as  I've  heard  tell, 26 

There  was  a  young  lady  whose  bonnet 42 

There  were  three  gypsies  a-come  to  my  door, 58 

There  were  three  jovial  Welshmen, 28 

There  were  three  sailors  of  Bristol  city 191 

The  spearmen  heard  the  bugle  sound, 213 

The  woods  are  full  of  fairies  ! 43 

The  world  is  so  full  of  a  number  of  things, 18 

The  world's  a  very  happy  place, 78 

They  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve,  they  did ; 105 

This  is  how  the  flowers  grow  : 132 

This  is  the  way  the  morning  dawns : 88 

Three  little  bugs  in  a  basket, 62 

"To-whit,  to-whit,  to-whee  ! 121 

'Twas  Friday  morn  when  we  set  sail, 173 

'Twas  on  the  shores  that  round  our  coast 155 

'Twas  the  night  before  Christmas,  when  all  through  the  house  .  113 

Twenty  froggies  went  to  school 66 

Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star  ! 37 

Two  little  kittens,  one  stormy  night, 54 

Under  a  spreading  chestnut  tree 188 

Under  a  toadstool 127 

223 


PAGE 

Under  my  window,  under  my  window,    ....          .     .     .     .  160 

Up,  up  !  ye  dames  and  lasses  gay  ! 203 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 95 

We  built  a  ship  upon  the  stairs 60 

What  does  little  birdie  say, 42 

When  at  home  alone  I  sit 136 

When  cats  run  home  and  light  is  come, 125 

When  cherries  grow  on  apple  trees, 84 

When  children  are  playing  alone  on  the  green, 71 

Whenever  the  moon  and  stars  are  set, 67 

When  father  takes  his  spade  to  dig, 70 

When  good  King  Arthur  ruled  this  land, 21 

When  I  was  a  bachelor  I  lived  by  myself, 21 

"  Where  are  you  going,  my  little  cat  ?  " 27 

Where  do  all  the  daisies  go  ?     .     . 68 

Where  the  pools  are  bright  and  deep, 101 

Which  is  the  wind  that  brings  the  cold  ? 79 

Who  comes  dancing  over  the  snow, 168 

Who  has  seen  the  wind  ? 49 

"Will  you  walk  a  little  faster?" 118 

Wynken,  Blvnken,  and  Nod  one  night 97 

"You  are  old,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said,  .     .     .     .  21c 


224 


/"- 


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